


Some History

by justkatherinetheokay



Category: Fablehaven Series - Brandon Mull
Genre: "there's some history", Backstory, F/M, Knights of the Dawn, M/M, Multi, Parents, Pre-Canon, Society of the Evening Star, Teenagers, Worldbuilding, Young Adults, a surprising amount of research, bildungsroman except only sort of, blixes, but canon also means things will get better, canon requires a downer ending, foregone conclusion, got to put that 5 on the ap exam to use somehow, obviously, occasional gratuitous spanish, parents of blixes, yay research
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkatherinetheokay/pseuds/justkatherinetheokay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how sometimes when you're an adult you go back and read YA books you read as a kid, and find that the relatable preteen heroes aren't the relatable ones anymore? And one of the cool actually-young-adult, as in mid-twenties, characters is in a coma for six years, and comes out of it, and his first words to another mid-twenties character are pure vitriol with no given explanation? Because somehow, despite being in a coma, he too knew she had betrayed the side of good? And then there's a throwaway line three books later, as the author's trying to Pair the Spares for the finale, that leaves you wondering what the hell happened to these characters six or seven years ago, before the coma?</p><p>This is the result of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fourteen Adolescences and One Adulthood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am just a person who read Fablehaven and was left slightly dissatisfied. Don't get me wrong, it's an awesome series, I just wanted to know _more_. Mostly about blixes, among other people who surely aren't universally evil but who aren't exactly on the side of good either.
> 
> So here are some blixes. Enjoy!

**1979**

This time, Rosario Dominguez Santoro just looked tired. Alec knew he had taken from her some of her youth every time, but today it was pronounced. Motherhood, too, had taken a clear toll. Twenty-five, and she seemed a decade older. It was in her voice when she spoke, the lines around her lips when she smiled, her hands as she poured the coffee. They shook. Alec reached out and took the pot from her, setting it aside, steadying her fingers. She smiled at him, and didn’t need to say a word. 

“Do I get to see her?” he asked when both their cups were drained. Rosario stiffened. 

“Why?” 

“Curiosity.” 

“Curiosity in what?” she said. “You want to see if she’s like you, is that it?” 

“I’ve no way of telling.” Alec twirled the mug back and forth between his palms, looking down at the kitchen counter. “And either way, there’s a good chance she wouldn’t be exactly like me. It’s always up to chance which way they turn out, when—people like me—have children.” 

“Especially unintentional ones,” said Rosario dryly, and Alec smiled. She sighed. “I suppose you can see her.” 

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” he said, rather hurt by her clear distrust. “Blixes don’t hurt other blixes, Rosie, that’s just how things work.” 

“What if she’s not?”  


“She’s still my blood.” Rosario looked at him doubtfully a minute longer, then relaxed slightly.  


“Fine,” she said. “You can see her. Ven conmigo.” He followed her out of the sweet little kitchen and up the stairs to an equally sweet little nursery. Everything in it was yellow: ideal for a boy or a girl, he supposed, and as sunny as everything else in this overheated city. A dark-haired baby lay in a crib under the window. Rosario picked her up, cooing to her softly as she came awake, fussing. After a few moments she turned and offered the warm little bundle to Alec.  


The instant she landed in his arms he felt the life emanating from her. The youth. Normally it would have been terribly tempting, but right now—he supposed blood relation must counter it. That, in combination with the innocence the particular youth of infancy imparted. The baby stared up at him with dark eyes, intelligent for such a tiny creature. She looked terribly like her mother.  


“What’s her name?” he asked, not looking away.  


“I thought about Valencia,” said Rosario. “Para mi ciudad. Pero…” He did love it when she slipped into Spanish.  


“Pero?” he prodded, following.  


“Vanessa.”  


“Vanessa,” he repeated, and wondered if that was a spark of recognition in the baby’s eye—did she know her own name? Surely she was too small. “English name.”  


“English padre,” said Rosario. “Though it seems to me you’ve been growing rather Italian the past few years.”  


“Well, in my experience, if you live in a place long enough, drain enough of its people, you do start to look like them a little, yeah,” said Alec.  


“I’m glad,” said Rosario. “It’s made your Spanish better.”  


“Until I start mixing them up, I suppose.” He smiled, and let tiny Vanessa grab his finger. “I’m using an Italian surname now. And Christian name, I suppose, I’ve been Sandro for a few years now…”  


“Qué apellido?” Rosario asked. “Me gustaba Young.”  


“I liked Young, too,” said Alec. “Always thought it was terribly subtle and not at all obvious for a lectoblix.”  


“So what is it? The new one?” she asked, and Alec hesitated.  


“You don’t want to give it to her, do you?” he asked. “You shouldn’t.”  


“Dios, no,” said Rosario. “She’s mine, and I’m giving her my name. Santoro. I just want to know what you’re calling yourself, in case—”  


“In case you need to track me down?” Alec laughed, and told her, “Capello. Alessandro Capello, in case I ever disappear on you for too long.”  


“Capello.” She nodded. “Muy bien. Besides,” she added, “she already has you for her middle name.”  


“Oh?”  


“Vanessa Maria Alejandra Santoro Dominguez. Though, I think,” she said in an undertone, “we’ll be leaving off the Dominguez once we get there. I like my mother's name.”  


“Get where?” said Alec, looking up at her at last. Rosario smiled wanly.  


“Me voy,” she said. “At last. Pues, nos vamos,” she amended. “Me and my baby.”  


“To the colonies?”  


“If that’s what you Englishmen insist on calling it.” She smiled at him very fondly.  


“Call me old-fashioned.” He sighed. “Or just nostalgic. Where will you go?” Rosario came to stand closer, head against his shoulder, looking down at the baby.  


“New York City,” she said. “I’ve heard there’s a community there.”  


“What, a coven?”  


“Si.”  


“Pues,” said Alec in the accent he knew perfectly well to be terrible, “Puedo contactarles para ti—”  


“I can do it myself,” said Rosario, surprisingly fiercely. “They won’t hurt me as long as I have her.” Alec had to admit she had a point, or at least so he hoped.  


“Well, ten cuidado.” He sighed. They stood there in silence for a few moments. Vanessa had lapsed back into sleeping.  


“Do you have to go again soon?” Rosario asked. Alec shrugged.  


“I can stay a weekend.”  


“Good.” She laughed. “I need an extra pair of hands to help me pack.”  


“When do you leave?”  


“In a month.”  


“So soon.”  


“Come to see us, won’t you?” said Rosario, and again Alec shrugged.  


“I’ll try,” he said. “Can’t say how often I’ll be over there.” Again, Rosario laughed, softer this time. “What’s funny?”  


“That’s the same thing you said when we finished university and I moved back here,” she said. “Well, when I finished university. For you it must have been, what—”  


“My fourteenth,” Alec supplied, and now they both laughed. “New York’s a lot farther than Spain, Rosie.”  


“I know.” She smiled up at him. “Doesn’t mean you won’t come.”  


“No, it doesn’t.” He looked away, and let his eyes be fixed again on his daughter. “You’re my favorite human, Rosie. My favorite in three hundred years.”  


“I know,” she said again.

The house in Valencia was packed up quickly and easily. Alec came back a month later to drive them to the airport. Vanessa slept all the way. For Rosario’s sake he hoped she would sleep on the flights as well.  


“Remember,” he said as they unloaded the suitcases from the trunk of his rental car, “your contact is Greg Florentine.”  


“Greg Florentine. That can’t be Gregorio di Firenze?” said Rosario a bit doubtfully as they began to walk together through the terminal. “The Vampire of Florence?”  


“He’s an old friend,” was all Alec said to that.  


“How old?” she asked, eyes narrowed.  


“Older than me.”  


“Obviously, as the Vampire’s reign of terror was fifty years before you were born.”  


“He had a rather rebellious adolescence,” said Alec.  


“How many adolescences ha tenido?”  


“More than me.”  


“And you’ve had thirteen?”  


“Fourteen including the past ten years.” They laughed, and were distracted by checking the bags, and then they walked on toward the gate.  


“Greg Florentine,” Alec said again. “And if anyone threatens you—hell, if anyone frightens you—call me. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”  


“And how will I do that?” said Rosario dryly. “When you move around so often.” Alec pulled his notebook from his pocket and scribbled down two numbers. The first was his number in Italy: +39 577 221879. The second was different. 000 587754.  


“If you can’t reach the first,” he said, “call the second. He’ll find me.”  


“I didn’t know zero-zero-zero was an area code.”  


“I think it routes through Obsidian Waste,” said Alec without thinking—she did that to him—and cursed his tongue as soon as the words were out. Rosario frowned up at him.  


“Obsidian what?”  


“Never mind. Just—in an emergency,” he said, and pressed the page into her hand. “Only an absolute emergency. Only if you can’t possibly talk your way out of it, if you can’t even run, do you understand? Only then.” She nodded. “Tell him you need Alec Young, and I promise he’ll help.”  


“All right.” Rosario stuck the page into her pocket, and of course it was then that Vanessa woke up in her arms. Four months was far too young for this flight, Alec thought, but there was no helping it now. He took the baby when Rosario held her up, and rocked her while her mother went to the gate to sort out boarding in Spanish so hurried that for once he actually couldn’t understand. Vanessa wouldn’t quiet. She cried—then she screamed, little mouth opening wide, and he gave her a finger to suck on. Apparently that was her concern—that nursing wasn’t available—but then he felt something hard and sharp press fast against the pad of his finger.  


“Ouch!” He pulled it back. The baby was calmed, but his finger was bleeding and, oddly, tingling. Venom. He had been bitten before, by others, but he wasn’t used to being bitten unexpectedly, let alone by a baby. He set her gently on a chair in the waiting area outside the gate and sat down in the next, closing his eyes to focus, to see if he could figure out what kind she was—please don’t be a vivi, was all he thought to himself. Either else would be fine, but zombies scared even him—  


Alec woke to Rosario saying his name and looking terribly worried. They stood by the window, looking out at the airplanes. Vanessa was sleeping in her arms again. He could have sworn he had sat down in the chair, and was briefly very confused—then the baby woke, and her eyes opened just as they rolled back down from whites, and at the sight of her dark irises Alec’s head cleared at last.  


“Jesus Christ,” he said, and Rosario smacked him in the arm.  


“I do mean to raise her Catholic, you know,” she said. “Save setting a bad example for a little later?”  


“I suppose,” he said, eyes never leaving Vanessa’s. She looked up at him solemnly, intelligently. Infant eyes were poor, he knew. Now she had seen in 20/20. There was something very alarming about that thought, as he looked at her.  


“I’ll miss you all the same.” Rosario stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. Alec barely felt it. “Alec?” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Is something wrong? Tell me quickly, because we need to board, and from the sound of it she’s hungry.” That woke him right up.  


“You can’t nurse her,” he said. Rosario frowned.  


“I didn’t intend to do so on the airplanes,” she said. “I was hoping she would sleep, but I do have a few bottles packed. Enough to get through.”  


“No, I mean—you can’t once you’re there, either,” said Alec. “Not anymore. She’s a narco.” Rosario blinked.  


“Narco?”  


“Narcoblix. They’re not as famous as lectos like me—not as dramatic, not as long-lived, not as much cult sex appeal. Once they bite you, they can control you in your sleep.”  


“Ay,” said Rosario, now following his gaze down to their daughter. “How do you know, all of a sudden?”  


“She bit me,” said Alec, and showed her his finger. The puncture wound had shrunk to a small round dot. “She bit me, put me to sleep, and possessed me to walk over here. So you can’t nurse her, if she can do that already, because then she could possess you, and—”  


“All right.” Rosario nodded. “I won’t. I have to go, Alec—adios—” and she kissed his lips this time, much to his surprise, and left him standing there as she and their baby boarded a plane to halfway across the world.  


Alec had been left alone a lot, he thought, watching the plane roll across the tarmac toward the runway. It was inevitable, he supposed, whenever he let himself have dealings with humans. When they had burned Kate, when he was really a youth, in the first adolescence—that had ruined him, he thought, but in ruining made him better at all the lesser abandonments that followed, so that as years turned into centuries he kept telling himself his heart burned with her. Still he ran from them: their lives were short, and all he could do was to shorten them further, whether by endangering them with his presence or in the more obvious and direct manner. For two hundred years now all his friends and associates had been immortal in some way or another: blixes, demons, particular shadow-charmers, the Sphinx, whatever he was. Then, his fourteenth turn through Oxbridge, along came Rosario. Now there was a baby in the picture. A narcoblix.  


No one would burn the Santoros. No one. He would make quite certain of that.  


Out on the runway, the plane sped, and sped, and lifted off. Alec started to turn to go, satisfied that all was well, but he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and a red-bearded grin in his face.  


“Alec Young, as I live and breathe!” James Ashley drew him into a tight and unexpected embrace. “What are you doing in the Valencia airport?”  


“Seeing off some friends,” said Alec broadly. Jamie nodded.  


“Some kind of mission?” he said quietly, knowingly. Apparently he was English today. “I’ve got one of those myself. Headed off in fifteen.”  


“Oh? Where to?”  


“Sudan, Democratic Republic of.” Jamie grimaced. “Apparently there’s a vivi terrorizing a village. Want to join me? I could use some company.” Alec frowned. “I can pay your way,” Jamie added, looking quite hopeful.  


“Did you know I would be here?” said Alec, suddenly a bit suspicious, and Jamie wilted before him. It really was as if he lost a bit of his youth in being discovered. Man was always a terrible liar.  


“He told me,” he said, and pulled a ticket from his pocket. “Please come?”  


“Who told you? The Captain?”  


“You know who.”  


“Well, no,” said Alec, “no, actually I don’t—you haven’t told me yet who this Sudan mission is for.”  


“Does it matter?”  


“Not so much,” said Alec, taking the ticket from his old friend’s hand—“I just like to know who I’m talking to, and how far we can go in saying the ends justify the means.”  


“Well, in that case,” said Jamie, and his accent shifted entirely, back to the thick brogue of boyhood, “you probably assumed you were speaking to John Grant of London, but in fact you’re about to board a plane alongside Jamie Ashley of Crieff. If you so choose.”  


"So that’s who told you I’d be here.” Alec sighed in a bit of relief. “All right. I’ll certainly go with Jamie Ashley of Crieff.”  


“Yeah?”  


“These are more fun, anyway.” Alec flashed him a wicked grin. “So that’s who told you I’d be here,” he said, quieter, and glanced impulsively up at the sky where Rosario’s plane had long since vanished. Thank God. He would much rather _he_ knew they existed.  


“Yeah,” said Jamie again. “Rhodes is a very smart man.”  


“That he is.” Alec’s whole body felt lighter. “Now let’s go catch him a viviblix.”  


“Yes, let’s.” Jamie started to lead him down to the gate printed on the ticket.  


“I don’t have a change of clothes with me,” Alec pointed out. “And I’ve got a rental car sitting outside.”  


“Someone will take care of that.” Jamie waved it aside. “And you don’t need a change of clothes in the field. This should be a fast one.”  


“Fair enough.”  


“Man, how long has it been?” said Jamie, quite cheerful all of a sudden. “I’ve got a lot to catch you up on!”  


“Me too,” said Alec. “On the plane I’ll tell you about my narco daughter.” That got exactly the reaction he wanted.  


“Daughter? The bloody hell, man?” Jamie exclaimed. “When did that happen? It hasn’t been that long since I saw you last—only a couple decades!” Alec laughed, and ran off, and let Jamie chase him all the way to the gate for Sudan.  


No one would burn the Santoros, he promised—he promised himself, he promised Rosario, and perhaps most importantly he promised Vanessa—and maybe, just maybe, Alec Young could even manage to keep that promise.

 **1982**

It was very early in Italy, and Alec was still asleep, when his phone rang abruptly, which was very strange, because no one ever called him in Italy. Jamie had this number, and Elinor, and Geoff, and Greg, and Anne, and probably Lestat for all he knew. So did both of them: Rhodes and the Captain. So did— 

The ringing stopped, and he drifted back to sleep, and didn’t hear it when the phone rang again—but when he woke up he was holding it, and Rosario was saying his name, and the déjà vu made his blood run cold. “Ciao.” 

“Alec?” Rosario sounded panicked. “Ay, que bueno que estás allí—ayudame, por favor, Ale, no sé que hacer—” 

“Slow down, slow down. It’s going to be all right.” 

“Español!” 

“No puedo, Rosie, it’s—god, it’s four in the morning here—what’s wrong that you’re calling me at, what, ten? What’s the emergency?” On the other end, Rosario sighed in some relief. 

“Well, at least you’re awake,” she said hurriedly. “Look, a group—about twenty men came to the apartments—they arrested the coven—they say they can help us escape, they think Nessie’s human—” 

“Did they call themselves knights?” said Alec through suddenly-gritted teeth. 

“Sí.” 

“Mierda.” 

“Alec!” 

“Since when are you calling her Nessie?” 

“Well, you’re British.” 

“I’m English!” 

“So?” 

“So Loch Ness is Scottish!” 

“El lago tiene un monstruo, y yo tengo una monstrua,” said Rosario, and it was clearly a joke, but Alec wasn’t in the mood. It was four in the morning, and the Knights were back to racial profiling. 

“And now you’re calling her a monster, too. Great.” 

“No—Alec—look, they gave me this one call,” said Rosario, quieter. “Please tell me what to do. Can I trust them?” Alec sighed and raked a hand through his hair, wishing he could be a quarter of the world away to help her. 

“As long as they don’t find out she’s not human,” he said. “As long as they think she is, I think you’ll be fine.” 

“So you know who they are.” 

“Yes.” 

“Can you help me deal with them?” she asked. 

“Can you hand the phone to whoever’s in charge?” said Alec wearily. 

“Just a moment.” Static for a moment, then a man’s voice on the other end. 

“Who am I talking to?” He was gruff and American. 

“Who am _I_ talking to?” 

“Rick Edwards, South Lieutenant.” 

“Rick.” Alec sighed, and struggled to remember what his name was this time around. “You’re talking to Tom Hart. You probably don’t know me, I answer to West.” His American was shaky this early in the morning, but it probably didn’t matter—he had never met Rick Edwards in person, and with any luck, never would. “I’m currently in Italy, and it’s four in the morning, and I’d like to know what the hell you’re doing arresting my ex.” 

“I assume your ex is the human Rosario Santoro, and not one of the nine blixes my men just arrested?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then in return I ask you what the hell your ex was doing living in a building we knew years ago to belong to a coven.” 

“She was keeping an eye on them,” said Alec exhaustedly. 

“She’s a Knight?” said Edwards sharply. “She doesn’t seem to know anything of who we are.” 

“No, no, she’s not a Knight, she’s—she’s freelance—not everyone who knows our special secrets is a Knight, you know.” 

“But she’s not Society, either?” Sharp and suspicious. God, why couldn’t they have done their sting this time there? Then it would be ten for him, and he could think… 

“Not that I know of, and I think I would, since we slept together for five years,” said Alec sarcastically. Sarcasm killed his American. Whatever. 

“I assume her daughter is yours, then?” Edwards’ voice softened a little. That was nice. He hated to answer, but it was still nice. 

“Yeah.” Well, it had lasted three years, he thought. Three years she had existed without the Captain knowing she did. 

“I see.” Silence for a moment. Then Rosario again. 

“Alec?” 

“Estoy aquí.” 

“He says we’re free to go.” 

“Are Greg and Mandy all right?” Edwards had said nine, but as Alec recalled there were several dozen blixes in that coven. 

“They got out.” 

“And Francis?” 

“Frank’s gone. So are Rachel and Hannah.” 

“Good.” He sighed. “Do you have a place to stay for the mean time?” 

“Greg said he’ll call in the morning to work things out for us,” she said. “The Knights seem content to leave me alone again.” 

“Good.” 

“I’ll let you know where we go.” 

“Good.” 

“Say something other than just good?” 

“Bien.” 

“Alec.” 

“I’m exhausted, Rosie. It’s four in the morning.” 

“All right.” She laughed softly. “We’ll be fine, Alec. You go back to bed.” 

“Call me when you know what’s happening.” 

“I will.” 

“Is Vanessa asleep?” 

“She slept right through it, yes.” 

“Good.” 

“Go back to bed, Alec.” 

“I will eventually.” 

“Good night.” She said it rather firmly, and it surprised him to realize, with a jolt, that he didn’t want to hang up. 

“Buonanotte.” 

“I think you mean buenas noches.” 

“I’m in Italy.” 

“I know.” 

“Buenas noches.” 

“Alec, you need to go back to bed. I need to go to bed.” 

“No,” he said, “I need to hear you talk.” That didn’t grant that wish; instead she was silent for what felt like several full minutes. 

“You’ll hear me talk again tomorrow,” said Rosario. “When Greg and I figure out our next step.” 

“Right.” Alec sighed, reluctant. “All right. Good night.” 

“Good night,” she said, and the line clicked, and he hung up the phone and fell back into bed—not to sleep, as it turned out, but to stare at the ceiling and wonder whether Rosario knew Vanessa was awake after all—that she knew exactly what was going on, enough to possess her father into helping them from six time zones away. 

He didn’t sleep because he was worried, but somewhere subconsciously he was sure he also didn’t sleep because he was unnerved. Unnerved by Vanessa; unnerved more by the Knights raiding a coven. That wasn’t like them—for the two and a half centuries he had been playing double agent, both the Knights and the Society had been fairly docile. Though they worked to opposite ends in theory, most of what they did seemed to be along the same lines: peacekeeping between myth and reality, making sure nothing went too horribly wrong between humans and other species. The Knights wanted to keep their secrets, the Society wanted everyone to know the truth, but so far in Alec’s lifetime neither had done anything to upset the status quo. Tonight—well, this morning, for him—made him fear that that might change. 

Eventually he shifted his worries back to concern for Rosario, and fell asleep to that around six. So far the Santoros had not burned, but this—contact with the Knights, of all people—seemed to dip the torch perilously close to the kindling at their feet. 

**1985**

San Francisco was as steep as Alec remembered it from last year. Last year, he had come for a week in June to find Rosario with a boyfriend who thought very little of Vanessa’s absent father, and his daughter more interested in the boyfriend—Brad—than in him. Today he prayed it would be different, all the way back to the house. Greg came to meet him at the airport and drive him to the cul-de-sac where what remained of the Brooklyn coven had taken up. 

“It’s great to see you,” said Greg in the car. “Rosie’s at work, so why don’t you come to our house? Mandy will be home soon with the kids.” 

“All right,” said Alec, a little off-put by Greg’s calling her Rosie. Only he had ever done that. “How are the kids?” 

“Great.” Greg drummed his fingers on the steering wheel at a stoplight. He looked over at Alec. “You doing all right, Alec?” 

“Fine.” 

“You don’t look like you’ve fed in a while, is all.” 

“I haven’t much.” 

“I mean, you look like you’re over thirty.” 

“I am over thirty.” Substantially. 

“Right, but you don’t usually look it.” 

“Yeah, well.” They were quiet for a moment. “I sold the house in Siena,” Alec said. 

“Where are you going next?” Greg asked. Alec paused to consider his response. 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Well, feel free to stay here a while,” said Greg. “On behalf of everyone. It’ll be good to have you around.” They pulled into a neat paved driveway behind a minivan. Children were climbing out of it one by one—at least a half-dozen, he thought, and was a little amazed they all fit back there. Greg waited to open his door until they had all been herded through a little gate next to the neat, boxy house and into what was surely the back garden. Then he got out, and Alec followed. 

“Where should I go?” said Alec once they were in the front door. Mandy emerged from behind a partition, drying her hands on a dishtowel, to give him a wide-smiling hug. 

“You should go into the yard,” she said firmly. “Greg will take your suitcases over to Rosario’s, won’t you, Greg?” He nodded and went right back the way they had come, and Alec followed Mandy the opposite direction through the little house. It was pleasant: the walls were painted in pastels and the curtains looked faded, and the couches were lumpy and old, but that just added to the sturdiness of the place. It had always looked like a very nice thing to do, living settled down. She led him through the yellow-tiled kitchen. The inside door hung open, letting in a pleasant breeze; she opened a screen door and stepped down a porch, and he followed. 

In the back garden the California sun hit Mandy properly, and Alec realized with a jolt that she looked terribly careworn. Narcoblixes, though long-lived, weren’t as immortal as lectoblixes could be. Mandy, at fifty-two, was actually starting to look middle-aged. Then he was distracted. 

“ALEC!” And a tiny black-pigtailed whirlwind ran at him to wrap her arms around his legs. Without toppling over, he carefully detached Vanessa’s fingers from the backs of his knees and lifted her up into his own arms. She jumped forward from his hold to throw her arms around his neck, and the force of her on his shoulders, unsupported, finally sent him to his knees. 

“You were definitely not this big last time I saw you,” he said. It was all he could say, hugging her. She felt very _right_ in his arms, and all but attacking him didn’t seem like disinterest, certainly. That gave him hope. 

“Well, no,” said Vanessa. “I was five. Now I’m six.” She pulled away and held up a hand, fingers spread wide, for him to see, then added the index of the other hand. He nodded. 

“That you are.” 

“I’m in kindergarten,” she said proudly. “Will you make me a snack? Mandy hasn’t yet, and I’m hungry.” 

“I was about to,” said Mandy, who stood back watching them. Over Vanessa’s shoulder, Alec could see the rest of the children also looking at them curiously. He recognized Greg and Mandy’s three: Kathryn, who had to be ten by now; Xander, named for him but only sort of, who was—eight? Yes, eight—and Jessica, who was still just a baby when the Knights raided them in Brooklyn, and had grown up now enough to toddle after her siblings. The others looked faintly familiar—the features of parents whose names he couldn’t place, he supposed. 

“Is that Vanessa’s dad?” one of them asked aloud. “She has a dad, right?” 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Kathryn, clearly the eldest there. “Everyone has to have a dad. They couldn’t _exist_ if they didn’t have a dad.” 

“This is Alec,” was all Mandy said by way of explanation, careful, diplomatic. 

“Can I have a snack?” Vanessa asked again, tugging on his shirt. He nodded. 

“Certainly. Let’s go inside.” He stood, carrying her—she giggled—and went back in through the screen door to the kitchen. “What do you like?” 

“Peanut butter.” He set her on the counter. She swung her feet against the drawers. Mandy trailed after them. 

“They’re not allowed up there, you know,” she said as Alec opened the breadbox and rummaged through it for something that would work. 

“Just this once,” he replied. 

“Yeah!” Vanessa agreed cheerfully. Mandy sighed. 

“All right, I guess,” she said, and leaned on the counter beside Vanessa, pointing out where things were as Alec went about making his daughter a sandwich. 

“Do you want jam?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder. Vanessa nodded enthusiastically. Then her eyes widened. 

“Mami!” She jumped down from the counter too fast for him to catch her, and ran to Rosario where she had appeared with Greg in the doorway. She came up to her mother’s waist. Rosario hugged her, but smiled over her head at Alec when he turned to see her. 

“Hola, mija.” She leaned down to kiss the top of Vanessa’s head. “Alec.” 

“Rosario.” 

“When did you get in?” 

“Not long ago,” he said. “Fifteen minutes. Do you want your sandwich, Vanessa?” He had cut it diagonally into quarters and put it on a blue plastic plate. Vanessa pulled out of her mother’s grasp and ran back to him to take it. She climbed up to sit at the kitchen table. 

“Did Alec make you a sandwich?” said Rosario. Vanessa nodded, mouth already full. “What do we say?” 

“Fank you, Alehh,” said Vanessa around the peanut butter. Rosario rolled her eyes and turned back to Alec. 

“Ven aquí, you.” She held out her arms, and, relieved at the invitation, Alec went over to hug her. She smelled like the ocean, and like vanilla, and as with Vanessa earlier, he didn’t much want to let go. She did much too soon, so he had to. 

“Nessie, why don’t you go back outside?” said Mandy, and herded her away. Greg, Rosario, and Alec all sat down at the vacated kitchen table, where the two who lived here immediately launched into a cheerful explanation of what lives were like now. Rosario was working as a paralegal in Silicon Valley, while Vanessa went to a Montessori school run by blixes for the children of blixes. Alec liked that: it canceled out the hazards that sending her to public school would have posed. 

Other things had changed, he thought as he listened to Rosario talk: her English was accented American now, and her vocabulary was leaning that way as well. Her English was more fluent, too, her speech less peppered with Spanish. There was a caress in her voice when she said their daughter’s name that he didn’t remember from before, and she didn’t use the nickname anymore that Mandy seemed to have stuck to. She seemed confident; she seemed settled. They all seemed settled. Alec wondered what that was like, being settled. 

Mandy made them dinner, and Alec found himself ravenous. After all the salad and chicken were gone he went with Rosario to her house down the block. Vanessa skipped ahead in the soft evening light. 

“Greg said he put your things in the guest room?” For whatever reason her voice trailed up on the end, making a statement a question. 

“Yeah,” was all Alec said in reply, and they walked in silence for a moment. 

“Brad’s long gone, you know,” said Rosario quietly. “He was nice, but he wasn’t—” she cut herself off. 

“Ah.” 

“Do you want to be in the guest room?” she asked, stopping at the end of the walk. Vanessa was on the porch, jumping up and down impatiently in waiting for her mother to come and unlock the front door. Alec shrugged. 

“I mean—if that’s where you’d like me—” 

“But do you want to be there?” she asked again, and this time he was honest. 

“No.” They stared at each other a moment, eyes bright in the growing darkness. Then Vanessa ran up to them. 

“Mami,” she said, “llaves!” 

“All right, all right,” Rosario laughed, and followed her down the walk. She caught Alec’s hand as she went, and pulled him with her. 

They put Vanessa to bed. Tomorrow was Saturday, so there was nothing to prepare for school. 

“Read to me, Alec!” she insisted, so he sat and read her a picture book. Little Blix Goes to School. 

“Who writes these?” he asked Rosario, examining it when Little Blix had gone successfully through a school day and Vanessa’s light was off in her room, which was pink in paint only: full of stuffed versions of preserve creatures, trolls and centaurs and fairies, rather than conventional dolls or teddy bears, and, more curiously to him, toy weapons. 

“People.” She shrugged. “There’s a thriving community here in private. You’d know if you’d been a part of it.” 

“Ouch,” said Alec. “Do you want me in the guest room after all?” 

“No,” said Rosario, and the book fell to the floor forgotten as she pulled him up against the wall to kiss him. They barely made it to the bedroom intact. 

“I could be a part of it,” said Alec sometime much later. 

“Hmm?” said Rosario, who was half-asleep with her head on his bare shoulder. 

“I could.” 

“You’re not—staying?” she asked, suddenly awake, and quite disbelieving. 

“I sold the house in Italy,” Alec told her. “I can always go somewhere else, but I think—I do want to stay this time. If you’ll have me.” Now Rosario sat up in bed, in the dark, clutching the sheet to her chest. She was silhouetted against the faintly-moonlit window, beautifully so. 

“You know I’m human,” she said. 

“I do.” 

“You’re theoretically immortal. I’m not. Vanessa’s not.” 

“Neither are Mandy and two of the three kids, and Greg still stays.” 

“Mandy’s his fifth wife,” said Rosario. “He’s had fifteen children before this family, and buried eleven of them, and all the wives. Do you want that, too, Alec? I always thought that was why you stayed away.” 

“I don’t want that,” said Alec, and wondered how the hell he was going to tell her the truth. Rosario flopped back onto the pillow. 

“Then don’t act like you’d take it,” she said coolly. 

“I don’t want five wives,” he amended. “I want one.” Rosario rolled over to face him. 

“And then, what, live out eternity in grief?” 

“I want one.” He leaned forward to kiss her. “I want one, and I want to grow old with her. Just a bit at a time, as I’ve always done, and I’ll age with a semblance of normality, Rosie, right along with you.” He heard her gasp. 

“You do look older—you’ve started already,” she realized. He nodded. “No, Alec—when you could live forever—” 

“I don’t want to live forever,” he replied. “Have you ever heard of Torina Barker?” 

“No. Should I have?” 

“Absolutely not.” He shuddered. Of all the people who could burn the Santoros—“She—she’s a lecto, very old, centuries older than me, and she—she’s lost all control. All she cares about is staying young, she’s incredibly vain, she can barely stop herself from killing her victims one by one—I don’t want to be like her, Rosie, I don’t want to live forever. Three hundred-some years will be far beyond enough.” 

“Oh,” said Rosario softly, and tentatively snuggled against him again. “How old are you? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.” 

“I’ll be two-hundred ninety one this December,” said Alec. 

“Ah.” She sighed. “I’m thirty-one, thanks for asking.” 

“Well, I know how old you are,” said Alec. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve still got all the maturity of a thirty-year-old, so there.” 

“Does the youth correlate to attitude?” Rosario wondered aloud, faintly, sleepily. 

“I don’t know. I’ve always felt mine does, but then I am the man who had fourteen youths. It’s not as if that was an accident.” He felt her laugh faintly against his side. 

“And one adulthood now,” she added. 

“One and only.” He kissed her forehead. “Te amo, Rosario, y siempre te quiero.” 

“Y tú también,” Rosario mumbled, and they were silent, listening to each other’s breathing there in the house in the cul-de-sac in San Francisco. The house, Alec decided, where he would live; where he would die. 

He woke in the morning to find himself dressed and downstairs making breakfast. He turned to see Vanessa sitting at the table, eyes sliding back down from the whites, already smiling at him innocently. 

“We’re going to need to set some ground rules, you and I,” he told her firmly, but far from being unnerving, after the past few years he was glad she had this power, and the stuffed animals, and the weapons. Whatever was coming, Dawn or Evening Star or both, at least Vanessa would be well-equipped to handle it. 

No matter what was to come, the Santoros would not burn. He was sure of that now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So. First chapter of... a bunch. I don't know how many.
> 
> Expect some baby Warren next, for the sake of balance. Then, expect a time jump so we can get to the part where everyone are young adults and stuff.


	2. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna Cameron Burgess is not a Knight or anything like that. In fact, she would be perfectly okay with being a regular suburban mom to her two sons. But that is not how life goes, and when her father-in-law rubs Grunhold the wrong way, she, her husband, and 2.5 kids leave the white picket fence behind and take the plunge into a world Anna's known existed for years, but isn't sure she'll ever really be ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I am sorry this took so long. Writing Burgesses and Sorensons is a lot harder than I expected, and a _lot_ harder than writing Youngs and Santoros, because there's so much more canon to stick to with Burgesses and Sorensons. However, now that it's summer and I'm off school, I should have a lot more time to work on this, and a lot more regular updates (maybe).
> 
> We pick up shortly after where we left off, except on the opposite end of the country and with a very different family.
> 
> Here there be Burgesses. And Sorensons.

Massachusetts

 **1985**

“Come on! Come _on_! You have to throw the ball _back_ , Warren!” Dale turned on his heels to appeal to Anna where she sat on the porch swing. “Mommy, he’s not playing right!” 

“He’s four,” said Anna. “Do you expect him to?” 

“He’s supposed to be smart,” said Dale. “Everyone says so. _You_ said so.” 

“Intelligence in a four-year-old isn’t enough to make him good at playing catch,” said Anna. “That’s hand-eye coordination.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” said Dale, shoulders sagging grumpily. 

“I know, dear. Come here.” She held out her arms, and her nine-year-old ran to them. Out on the front lawn, Warren had plopped down on the grass, giggling, hugging the ball happily. Anna pulled Dale up into her lap as Dave’s station wagon came rattling down the gravel drive. He parked in front of the garage, and Warren tossed the ball aside to toddle toward his father as he climbed out of the car. 

“Daddy!” he said. Dave Burgess swept his younger son up into his arms and lifted him into the air like he was flying. Dale vaulted back out of Anna’s lap to dash after his brother. 

Anna stood, peering past Dave. On the other side of the car, another man was getting out. He looked perhaps ten years their senior. 

“Hey.” Dave pecked her cheek as he came past her, up the porch and into the house. “Anna, this is my cousin Stan. Stan, my wife, Anna.” 

“Stan Sorenson.” He offered a hand, and Anna shook it. 

“Are you Mary’s son?” she asked. She had thought Dave’s Aunt Mary married a Mr. Rudolph, but perhaps she was mistaken. Stan laughed and shook his head. 

“I’m married to George’s daughter Ruth,” he explained. 

“Oh.” Dave’s father had managed to avoid the war by being off-the-grid at the preserve, but his younger brother George had died in the South Pacific when his children were toddlers. Their mother had taken them to Ohio to live with her family, and the rest of the Burgesses had rarely, if ever, met them. “Where are you from?” 

“Illinois, but we’re out here to discuss a more easterly location,” said Stan a little vaguely. “Ruth and our son Scott are back at the hotel.” 

“Are they—?” Anna turned to Dave, hoping he would know what the next words would be if the children weren’t there crawling all over him. 

“Ruth has been for twenty years,” he said, “Stan for a few less.” 

“Scott would be too,” Stan grumbled, “he’s old enough, but it turns out we were a little too careful about raising up a skeptic.” He looked down at Warren and Dale, who were both regarding him curiously. “Don’t let these two get that way.” 

“We won’t,” said Dave, “trust me, we won’t. Say, Dale?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why don’t you and your brother go watch TV?” Both their eyes lit up at that. Getting to choose what to watch was rare for them. They dashed off into the living room. 

“All right, now they’re gone—” Dave shut the door. “Anna, Stan and Ruth are out here because Dad’s planning to retire at the end of next year.” 

“He—what?” Anna blinked. “He’s barely even seventy! Patton was seventy-eight when he retired.” 

“And much though I’ve often wished my father was Patton all over again, he’s not,” said Dave dryly. “Never was. Patton has yet to come along again, unfortunately, but that’s not what’s important. Anna, he says he wants to pass it on to me.” She froze. 

“You?” 

“He already asked Hadrian and Mary, and neither of them wants it. Of course, since they’re both off in far corners busy with their own lives.” Dave shrugged. “Anyway, that’s why Stan and Ruth are here. Because I told them we still have young children, and—” 

“And our only child is about to go off to college,” Stan finished. “We’ll be empty nesters. It’s the perfect time to move out to Connecticut.” 

“Wait, wait—why should our having young children matter?” Anna asked. “You were born and raised there, Dave, and you’re fine. As long as we set strict boundaries, don’t let them leave the yard, it should be a great place for—” 

“You’ve never been there for a solstice,” said Dave, and Stan’s face, too, slipped for a moment into a mask of deep unease. “Maybe once they’re a little older, Ann, but I don’t want even a chance of my kid looking out the attic window at Midsummer when he’s fifteen, let alone ten, and definitely not five.” 

“Is it very bad?” said Anna. Dave nodded grimly. 

“It’s bad.” 

“Why is he retiring, anyway?” Anna asked again. Dave shrugged. 

“I have no idea,” he said. “Sure, he’s getting on in years, but his mind’s still sharp as a tack, and his mobility is just fine.” 

“I heard Jim pissed off the centaurs,” said Stan. “Grunhold wants his resignation for whatever reason, so he’s retiring before the Knights can kick him out.” Dave frowned, turning to look at his cousin. 

“Centaurgate?” he said, and they all laughed. “Where did you hear that?” 

“George Ritter mentioned it a couple weeks ago.” Stan shrugged. “Before he and Chuck went off to Wyrmroost.” 

“Oh, that.” Anna had heard about that mission, and didn’t envy them. “Wyrmroost. Think we’ll be seeing them again?” 

“I don’t know,” said Dave. Stan grinned. 

“Should be dicey,” he said, “but I’d bet on Rose and Ritter.” 

“Well, let’s all keep them in our thoughts,” said Dave, “but centaurs? What did Dad do to anger the centaurs?” 

“No idea,” said Stan. “If that’s the reason, though—and I agree with you he’s too young and spry to be thinking of retiring—I could certainly help you out there. I’ve made my career with the Knights as a diplomat, not a soldier. I’m not bad at negotiating with creatures who think they’re better than me.” Anna wasn’t surprised, honestly—the man was terribly charismatic. He reminded her a little of Jim that way, and she hated to admit it, but he would probably make a better caretaker than Dave could be. 

“Have you dealt with centaurs?” Dave asked doubtfully. “Because I know fairies can be hard to handle, but centaurs are _jerks_.” Stan laughed. 

“Centaurs are jerks,” he agreed. “I’ve met a few before. None with quite the political clout of those at Grunhold, since the few who live outside are mostly hermits, but a centaur is a centaur.” He paused for thought. “Look, Ruth and I are moving Scott in at Amherst this week, but we can go down to Connecticut on Saturday.” 

“We don’t have anything planned, do we, Anna?” said Dave, who suddenly looked rather like a little boy excited for Christmas. She laughed. 

“Just grocery shopping and laundry. Since it’s not a solstice, I assume we can take the kids?” 

“Sure,” said Dave. “Besides, Dad would probably like to, you know, meet them.” He never had—Fablehaven took you off the grid, but off the grid also meant away from your family. Stan had a point on the merits of being an empty nester. 

“Then I guess it’s settled,” said Stan. “I’ll need the address—” 

“Ruth has it,” said Dave. 

“Excellent.” Stan stood. His cousins followed. “I ought to get back to my family. Dave, could I trouble you for a ride again?” 

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Anna asked. “We were going to light up the grill and have burgers.” Stan paused. 

“That does sound tempting,” he said. “And we told Scott we were going to try to get in touch with your family, so he knows you’re around.” All this secrecy between family. It had always struck Anna as a little sad, but there you were. 

“Why don’t we drive to the hotel to pick them up, then?” said Dave. “We’ll be back in about fifteen minutes, Ann.” 

“I’ll get the grill going for you.” She kissed his cheek. “See you soon.” They left the kitchen and went out; a minute later she heard the car doors slam, the engine start, and tires on the gravelly drive. 

She went into the next room to find Warren and Dale both with toy swords in their little hands, completely oblivious to the television blaring brightly-colored commercials behind them. 

“Die, dragon!” Dale was saying, while Warren poked him listlessly with his own sword. 

“ _I_ wanna be knight,” he whined. “Mommy, he’s _alw’ys_ knight.” 

“You can be a knight when you’re older,” said Dale. “I just don’t wanna be the dragon.” 

“What will you be when he’s the knight, then?” Anna asked, seizing her elder son around the waist and pulling him up into her lap. He barely resisted. 

“I’ll be the peasants the dragon’s attacking,” said Dale. “He can defend me.” 

“Sure he can, dear,” said Anna. 

“You can be Sir Criesalot,” Dale told Warren, who laughed and nodded. Anna rolled her eyes. 

“Be nice, Dale.” 

“I _am_ being nice! He gets to be a knight. Sir Criesalot.” He looked terribly pleased with himself. Anna sighed. 

“Boys, why don’t you go wash your hands?” she said. “And Dale, come help me get dinner ready. Daddy’s cousins are coming over.” 

“I thought Daddy’s cousin was already here,” said Dale. 

“They went to get the rest of his family,” Anna explained. “Cousin Ruth, his wife, and their son Scott.” 

“Is their kid my age?” said Dale, brightening. 

“No, he’s a lot older than you,” said Anna. “Eighteen. But I’m sure he’ll play with you if you ask very nicely.” 

“He can be the dragon!” Dale grinned. “ _Then_ you can be the knight, Warren!” 

“Yay!” Warren picked up his broomstick again. Anna sighed. 

“Perhaps it’s about time Daddy was getting you two real toy swords,” she mused, mostly to herself, but Dale heard, and his eyes lit up even further. 

“Yeah!” 

“Maybe for Christmas,” she amended, knowing they would likely forget all about it by then. Dale just nodded excitedly. “Now go wash your hands,” she told them again, and they did. She was slicing a tomato, Dale standing on a stool beside her to arrange cherries in a bowl, Warren stealing them, covering his fingers in red juice, when the car came rolling back up the gravel drive. 

“Daddy!” Dale jumped down from his stool and ran for the front door. Warren followed. Moments later, Dave came through holding the toddler on his shoulders with the rest of the family trailing after, and luckily Anna had rinsed her hands in time for the requisite handshakes. 

“I’m Ruth,” said Stan’s wife, a small, sturdy woman. Her eyes gleamed in a way that suggested sturdy meant tough. “This is our son Scott.” Scott was as tall and rail-thin as his father, without the charisma. 

“And where are you headed—it must be soon, right?” Anna asked, for manners, though she knew already. 

“Amherst.” Scott smiled. “I’m very excited.” 

“He’ll be right down the street from the Larsens’ daughter Marla!” said Ruth cheerily. “You know the Larsens, right? Hank and Gloria?” 

“I do,” said Dave. “Not sure Anna’s met them.” _Knights_ , he mouthed. 

“The name sounds familiar,” said Anna as Scott rolled his eyes. 

“It’s just the same town, Mom, not _down the street_ —” 

“Well, anyway, at least there’s someone you know around,” said Ruth. 

“I don’t know her that well, though—” 

“You could! We know the Larsens!” 

“You know them because he and Dad met in Vietnam,” said Scott. 

“Didn’t know you were in ’Nam,” said Dave to Stan. Stan shrugged. 

“Me and Hank and Coulter,” he said. “Not for very long, thank god. Weren’t you the right age? Bit young, but you’d have been drafted towards the end of it, right?” 

“I was a student,” said Dave. “Just like Scott’s about to be!” he added, obviously to change the subject, and Anna understood completely—she’d protested right alongside him. 

“Yeah.” Scott shrugged. “College will be fun. I’m looking forward to it a lot.” 

“As you should,” said Anna. “College _is_ fun. Dave,” she said, turning to him, “the grill should be warmed up. You should go get started on the burgers.” 

“Okay.” He gently set Warren on the linoleum and led Stan and Scott out to the back porch. 

“Why don’t I stay here and help with the salad?” Ruth suggested. Anna nodded. 

“Dale, Warren, you two go out and help Daddy.” 

“Okay!” Dale grabbed his brother by the hand and ran off after their father. Ruth clapped her hands. 

“Now,” she said. “What can I do?” 

“Here—” Anna handed her the salad spinner. “If you could mix those, it would be most helpful.” Ruth smiled, nodded, and did. 

“Stan tells me you’re in need of some help,” she said, nonchalant. Anna nodded. 

“It would seem so.” 

“Are you a Knight?” Ruth asked curiously. “I’ve met Dave once or twice at meetings, but I’ve never seen you.” 

“I’m not a Knight, no.” Anna laughed. “I couldn’t. I used to think, maybe once the boys are a bit older—but now, if we take over running the preserve, I guess it’ll never happen.” She was a bit sad about it, she realized—she hadn’t thought she would be, and she had never articulated any of it, but now she did she almost regretted the choice. 

“I’ve been a Knight twenty years.” Ruth shrugged. “Raised a kid around it. It wasn’t _too_ much of a hassle—not that it did him any good. Boy couldn’t see the truth if it danced in front of his eyes.” She sighed. “Well. Regardless, Stan and I’ll be glad to help you and Uncle Jim with centaur troubles. More Stan than me, that is. He’s the negotiator. I prefer a good crossbow.” 

“You raised a son,” said Anna. “I have little boys, I know them—surely you can’t be a _bad_ negotiator.” Ruth laughed. 

“Oh, I have my moments,” she said. “I’m just not as naturally talented as Stan. So we’ll drive down on Saturday?” she added, not missing a beat. Anna nodded. 

“I believe that’s the plan.” 

“Well, should be exciting.” Ruth paused. “I’ve never been there. Have you?” 

“Not once.” Anna shook her head. “Dave grew up there, but I’ve never been. Nor the boys. I’m a bit worried about that,” she added. “Dale… he’s at the age where he gets into everything, you know?” 

“Oh, I remember.” Ruth handed her the salad, fully spun. “He should be fine, though. They both will be. Especially with us to watch out for them.” 

“Right,” said Anna, though still a little uneasy. She had chopped half the tomatoes, leaving the rest for the burgers, and now she put those, with carrots and croutons, into the salad. Then they carried everything out to the porch. 

Dinner was pleasant. Scott talked more about his college plans; Dale and Warren put fries in their mouths and pretended to have fangs; Stan and Ruth told them about their day jobs, and invited them to come out and visit in Illinois. 

“You grill a great burger, Dave, well, Ruth grills a great chicken,” said Stan. 

“Sounds great,” said Dave. “We’ll let you know if we’re ever out there.” They all carefully avoided discussing any and all things out of the standard norm. Then, before they knew it, even the ice cream was put away and they were saying goodbyes as the Sorensons got back in Dave’s car to go back to their hotel. 

On Friday afternoon they all piled into the station wagon, suitcases packed, and drove down to Connecticut. The drive was barely two hours, with the traffic, but it seemed much longer when all the way there Dale and Warren sat in the back being noisy. They hadn’t taken Warren on a road trip before; now Dale had the chance to teach him “are we there yet?” and “99 bottles of pop on the wall, 99 bottles of pop…” to which he sang discordantly, and with more _la la la_ than the actual words, but very loudly nonetheless. 

It was nearing twilight as they came to the end of the long gravel drive and to an enormous gate, beautiful and ominous, beyond which Anna could only see… still more driveway. Stan was there to open it and let the station wagon shuffle on down the long, winding drive, past trees and shrubs, over a bridge, on and on. Anna peered out the window, and back in the mirror at Stan trudging along behind them. Everything outside looked remarkably… normal. There were no fairies, no centaurs, nothing supernatural or at all out of the ordinary. 

Dave had told her the truth back when they were dating, not long before he proposed. He’d had to leave out of nowhere for a month when they were supposed to be going to her best friend’s wedding in a week. She had asked why; he had given her some bullshit she couldn’t even remember anymore, and she had called him on it. _Give me an explanation,_ said Anna, _or you won’t have anyone to come back to._ When he started talking about some magical preserve with a demon problem, she would have sworn it was sarcasm if she had known him any less. Ten years later, not a day had gone by (after that first month, anyway) Anna regretted knowing the truth—only now was that feeling of dread starting to creep up again. 

“Jesus Christ, am I glad to see you,” said Jim as soon as Dave got out of the car. They walked immediately off toward the big, dark house, the boys dashing along after them, tugging at their father’s legs even as he seemed already to have plunged deep into conversation with his own. Anna hung back to start bringing in the luggage. 

“No, no, I’ll get it,” said Stan, who had evidently caught up. “You go on. Ruth’s inside, and Lena made dinner.” 

“Lena?” said Anna. 

“You’ll see,” said Stan shortly, so Anna followed his advice, and the rest of her family, into the house. 

The exterior looked intimidating, but inside the kitchen was very bright and pleasant. Ruth leaned against the counter holding what appeared to be a glass of milk, while the boys had been herded away by their grandmother to a wooden table in a sunny nook. A small, dark-haired woman stood at the stove, stirring a pot of what looked and smelled like tomato sauce. 

“Anna,” said Barbara Burgess, “how are you?” Before Anna could quite respond, her mother-in-law had enveloped her in a hug. “Well, you certainly look great. Are you tired from the drive? Thank you for the Christmas card, I can’t believe how the boys have grown just since then! They are so lovely, I just can’t stand it—” 

“We’re all fine,” said Anna when she could manage. “A little tired, definitely, and in need of food.” 

“Well,” said the dark-haired woman, who Anna decided to assume was Lena, “food is something we have in plenty.” She spoke with a soft accent Anna couldn’t quite place, and something about her looked a bit off as well. Her black hair had strands of silver in it, but her face looked oddly ageless. “I’m Lena,” she said, of course, “and you must be Anna.” 

“I am. It’s very nice to meet you.” When they shook hands, Lena’s was dry and cool. 

“The pleasure is mine,” said Lena. “Here, let’s get you a glass of milk.” 

“And for the boys?” said Barbara. Lena frowned for a moment, standing perfectly still before an open cabinet, then shook her head. 

“How old are they?” she said. “I don’t give milk to toddlers, and even the elder—I think perhaps not yet, Barbara.” 

“I agree,” said Anna hastily. “Not—not yet. But for me, definitely.” 

She knew what the milk was in theory, but had never tried it before. Lena poured her a glass, and it tasted sweet, creamy, and full. She glanced out the window over the sink and jumped. Her eye had passed right over a birdfeeder swarmed with butterflies, but it was impossible to ignore when it was now surrounded by brightly-colored fairies. She pulled her attention back to the kitchen to see Lena and Barbara barely suppressing grins. 

“An unusually understated reaction,” said Lena. “Ruth screamed.” 

“I did not!” said Ruth. “Can we eat yet?” 

“Dinner’s ready.” Lena shrugged. “Just get everyone out to the table, and certainly.” 

“All right.” Barbara sighed. “I’ll go round up my men.” 

“I’ll get mine.” Ruth followed her. 

“Dave’s still—” Anna started after them, but— 

“I said my _men_ , dear,” Barbara called back. “Husband and son. Don’t you worry. Help Lena with the food.” 

“Is this what I get for not being a knight?” Anna grumbled, half to herself, but Lena laughed quite musically. 

“I never sought knighthood either,” she said. “My husband’s gallivanting off to strange places was quite enough. _Someone_ needed to stay back and take care of the preserve.” 

“Your husband?” Anna frowned. “How _do_ you fit into the family tree?” Lena smiled rather mysteriously. 

“Patton,” she said. “Didn’t David ever tell you about the naiad?” 

“That was you?” 

“Lena Burgess, at your service.” The—mortal?—inclined her head over the enormous bowl of spaghetti in her hands. “Here, let’s go put all this on the table. Bring the boys.” 

“So aside from Stan, this really is like the first legislative assembly in America,” said Anna under her breath as she went over to rouse the boys, who had both fallen asleep in their chairs. Lena heard her, apparently, because that musical laughter floated across the room again. More to Anna’s surprise, that meant she got the joke. Usually when her history major came out in social interaction everyone else just looked confused for an awkward moment before changing the subject. 

“I don’t wanna,” said Warren. 

“You like spaghetti, don’t you?” said Anna. 

“And meatballs?” said Dale, instantly awake. 

“And meatballs.” 

_“Yes!”_ they both exclaimed at once, and moved surprisingly quickly from one table to the other all on their own. 

“So this will be fine for them?” said Lena a bit worriedly. “I know children can be picky eaters.” 

“No, no, they love spaghetti. This is perfect,” said Anna as the rest of the family appeared in the dining room. 

“It definitely smells perfect,” said Dave, and they all sat down and talked about pleasant things as they ate. Dale held court on how elementary school was going; Dave, Stan, and Ruth told Jim and Barbara about their day jobs; and Warren ate his spaghetti strand by strand, slurping it up into his mouth as tomato sauce splattered around his lips. When Anna tried to wipe it off he yelled _no_ , because Dale had said it looked like he was a vampire, and the tomato sauce the blood of his victims. 

“Thanks, Dale,” said Anna, and her firstborn smiled very innocently. 

When dinner was over, Jim took his son’s family up to the attic, where the kids would be staying. The stairs up there were long and steep, but when they reached the top it was worth it to see the look on Dale’s face. 

“This is the best place _ever_!” he said. “Grandpa!” And to everyone’s surprise, the boy who was too old for hugs seized his grandfather around the waist in excitement. Jim laughed. 

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, and once Dale let go, knelt in front of Warren. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi, Grandpa,” said Warren. 

“You going to be okay up here with your brother?” said Jim. “Not scared or anything?” 

“No!” The toddler puffed up his chest and put on what Anna called his fierce face. She smiled. Dave slid an arm around her waist, and as she leaned on him she began to realize how tired she was. It was like she’d been on an adrenaline rush since the minute they drove through the big gate. “I’m not scared,” said Warren. _I am,_ Anna thought. 

“All right,” said Jim. “You let me know tomorrow if you are, okay?” 

“I won’t be!” 

“I believe you.” 

“Will you read us one of those books?” Dale piped up, pointing at the well-stocked bookshelf. 

“Bedtime story? Sure,” said Jim. “I’ve just got to talk to your parents first, okay? Why don’t you two get in your pajamas?” He led Dave and Anna back out and a short ways down the stairs. “They’ll be safe from anything up there, as you know,” he said quietly. “Look, you two seem pretty exhausted.” 

“Accurate,” said Dave. 

“I thought so.” Jim nodded. “All right. I’m going to confer a little with Stan about the centaurs starting tonight. You two just go to bed. We can talk tomorrow.” 

“Sounds fine,” said Dave. Anna nodded agreement. Jim smiled, and softened, and in both he suddenly looked far older than he was. 

“It’s so great to see you,” he said. “Both of you. And, pardon, but especially them.” He nodded toward the attic. “They seem like sharp kids. How would you two feel about giving Dale milk in a couple days, starting him out?” 

“I don’t know about that,” said Anna before Dave could agree, as she was quite certain he was going to from the way his whole body suddenly went tense with excitement. “We’ll have to talk about it first.” 

“Well, talk about it soon,” said Jim. “Boy’s seen almost a decade, he should be fine. Dave and Hadrian had milk even younger.” 

“We’ll talk about it,” said Anna again. Jim nodded. 

“All right,” he said. “Go to bed. See you for breakfast. I’ve got to go read my grandsons a bedtime story.” He grinned. “Lucky me. Thanks for bringing them down.” 

“Our pleasure,” said Dave. Anna just smiled. Jim vanished back up into the attic, and Dave led her back down to the rest of the house. Their bedroom was blue and very pleasant. Once inside, it was like Dave was walking on coals, afraid to touch anything. 

“Is it strange, being in a grown-up room now?” said Anna, and they both laughed. 

“This room was always empty, is all,” said Dave. “And Mom said we had to keep it clean in case company ever needed it. But man,” he added, “I’ve missed that attic.” 

“Was that your bedroom?” she asked. 

“Mine and Hadrian’s, yeah.” He stripped off his t-shirt to exchange it for another. She had never understood why he did that. “We shared that room from when I was younger than Warren until he left for college. Mary got her own room because she was _older_ and a _girl_.” He said it half-whining, probably just as he did back when he was a jealous child. “It was nice, though. He had his birdcages in one corner, I had my model airplanes in mine.” 

“You were the strange normal child, that’s right,” said Anna. “I remember.” His one concession to the supernatural was joining the Knights. 

“Yeah, I’m no mystical ornithologist or whatever the fuck Hadrian calls himself,” said Dave. “I don’t live on an Italian preserve studying urban naiads like Mary.” She knew it plagued him, a little, because he thought it bothered his parents. After seeing them today, though, Anna thought rather the opposite. 

“But you’re the one who got married,” she pointed out, and came around the bed to set her hands on his shoulders. “And they came to our wedding. And you’re the only one who gave them grandchildren. I don’t know about your perspective, but from mine they seem pretty happy about that.” 

“They do, don’t they,” said Dave. Anna nodded. “Let’s give Dale the milk, Ann. It can’t hurt.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well, all right,” he said, “yes, it definitely can hurt—but it won’t. We’ll keep him in the yard. Fairies are nice. Just don’t let him catch one.” 

“Why not?” 

“They turn into imps if you keep them inside overnight.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“All right.” 

“This place is weird.” 

“Are you only just now realizing that?” Anna laughed. Dave shrugged. 

“Well, it’s my normal,” he said. “And I’m its weird.” 

“You’re _my_ weird,” said Anna, and as usual, that became a kiss. 

“I don’t know about you,” said Dave when they broke it, “but I’m exhausted.” 

“Do you also have a headache?” Anna teased. He smiled. “Me too,” she said. “Let’s _sleep_.” 

“Good plan.” So they did. 

Morning came late, and the butterflies outside the window were just butterflies again. Anna was alone in bed when she woke. She went downstairs to find everyone sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast, as Lena and the stove before her seemed to produce an endless stream of fluffy, blueberry-filled pancakes. The adults drank milk from the glass bottle; the kids had milk from a grocery-store carton. 

After breakfast Barbara took her grandsons back up to the attic so everyone else could head out into the preserve. Jim led the way, Dave close behind him, while Anna, Stan, and Ruth lagged behind a bit half to avoid potential confrontation and half out of distraction and awe at the wonders around them. Fairies still flitted from tree to tree, most of them heading in the same direction—toward the pond, Anna supposed; brightly-colored birds, lizards, and toads on closer inspection had more limbs or sometimes heads than they were supposed to; once in a while they passed clearings full of satyrs; but most often were creatures Anna couldn’t put names to. Once, as they were about to reach a small pile of stones in the road, Jim stopped and flung out an arm to keep the rest of them back; the stones began to scatter out of the path, back into the trees, as if they had hidden legs. As the creatures varied, so did the environments along the path; here a meadow with a pleasant little stream, here a rattling bridge over a ravine, here a sheer cliff face, above it a cave. 

“Stay away from there,” said Jim when Ruth strayed over to examine a small bed of very curious-looking flowers. “That cave is home to Nero, a cliff troll.” 

“Ah.” Ruth stepped back to the path. “A cliff troll?” 

“He can be reasoned with under most circumstances,” Jim elaborated, “but it’s still best to stay away from him.” Anna looked up at the high ledge, curious, and for an instant she thought she caught a glimpse of dark scales and equally curious eyes moving in the shadows. She shuddered, looked back down, and followed as the others walked on. 

A while more of walking led them through fields, forest, and eventually marshland. Here was the eeriest part Anna had seen yet, creepier even than the beautiful field and the ruined manor. Eventually they made it through the marshes and to what was surely a very far corner of the preserve, where a low stone wall cut off the marshes and turned them abruptly to rolling hills. 

“Grunhold,” said Jim grimly. His tone was a dark contrast to the beauty of the land before them. Far off, Anna could see an orchard, an archery range, a small neighborhood of stone houses… then hooves came thundering toward them, as a group of massive centaurs approached. The tallest frowned down at them. 

“You are no longer welcome in our realm, James Burgess,” he said coldly. 

“I know that, Broadhoof,” said Jim. “That’s why I’m standing outside it. Are you yet willing to negotiate?” Broadhoof sighed. 

“Make known to us your companions,” he said. “Then we will decide.” 

“With me are my youngest son, David,” said Jim, and gestured at them each in turn, “and here are his wife, Anna, and our cousins, Ruth and Stanley Sorenson.” 

“Sorenson?” said Broadhoof. “A Knight of the Dawn? I have heard the name from my kinsmen.” Stan stepped forward. 

“I am an acquaintance of the Great Lakes band,” he said, inclining his head respectfully. 

“A friend, they said.” Broadhoof nodded in the same manner before turning back to Jim. “Which of these is your successor, Burgess?” Jim set a hand on Dave’s shoulder, drawing him curious looks from all the centaurs, but to Anna’s surprise he didn’t name him. 

“None, if you’ll allow us negotiation,” he said instead. Broadhoof looked them over. 

“You have already used your yearly audience with Greymane,” he said. “You know this, Burgess. Did you think us so foolish as to have forgotten?” 

“Certainly not,” said Jim. “But in that audience if I was never told the terms you desire. Greymane has yet to make his case to me.” 

“You know our terms,” said Broadhoof. “You allow us our rights, or you resign your position as caretaker.” 

“Um,” said Dave. “What _are_ the rights you say he’s denying you?” 

“The right to our hunt,” said a smaller centaur to Broadhoof’s left, a silvery archer who had been quiet thus far. “It is traditional that in the week leading up to the autumnal equinox, the warriors among us should embark on a hunt. In past years this has never been an issue, and we fail to see why it should become one now.” 

“Because this time the species they’re after is not only sentient,” said Jim, “it’s _endangered_.” 

“We are all endangered species,” said the silver one coolly, “all but yours.” 

“Be that as it may, Stormwing,” said Jim, “yales are sentient. Surely you cannot argue with that.” 

“Your definition of sentience differs from ours,” said Broadhoof. “Little surprise, from a species that misguidedly considers itself the top tier.” 

“Most importantly,” said Stan, “from a legal standpoint, only a few of the specimens on the preserve actually belong to Fablehaven. The rest belong to the University. None of them belong to Grunhold.” Everyone who hadn’t been already now turned to look at him, even the centaurs. 

“How did you know that?” said Jim. “ _I_ didn’t know that.” Stan shrugged. 

“I did my reading last night after you told us what was going on,” he said. “I also read the treaty. Grunhold only holds the right to hunt animals not mentioned in it outside the roster. I do, however, have several alternate suggestions.” The centaurs had now shifted their attention entirely away from the rest of the party to fixate on him. 

“Burgess,” said Broadhoof slowly, “you have already used your audience for the year. If Greymane allows it, will you send this man into our realm to speak for you?” Jim looked at Stan, Stan looked at Jim, Dave looked concerned. 

“I will,” said Jim after a moment. “I make this request of Greymane in my capacity as caretaker of Fablehaven.” 

“Then we will deliver your request to Greymane,” said the silver one. 

“Thank you, Stormwing,” said Jim. 

“We will return to our border at dawn,” Broadhoof declared. “The human Stanley Sorenson must stand on the outside at that time to hear whether he shall be allowed entry. If he is not here at that time, all further negotiation is off.” 

“I’ll be here,” said Stan. The centaurs merely nodded and turned away, trotting off back toward their orchards. 

The hike back to the house seemed much shorter than it had on the way out, thankfully. Dave fell back to walk with Anna. 

“What do you think?” she asked. 

“I think this is the best outcome we could have asked for,” he said. “Stan’s absolutely right about the treaty, and I’m sure the centaurs will see that.” 

“And what about that question of succession?” said Anna. “Do you still want Stan to take over the preserve?” Dave shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” he said, and usually that would be evasion but right now she knew it was perfectly honest. “I don’t want it now, but if he convinces them to let Dad stay on, well—who knows where we’ll be in another ten years?” 

“Where we’ll be?” said Anna. “Dale will be in college, Warren just starting high school. That’s not the time to relocate.” 

“It could be,” said Dave. “All depends, really.” He sighed. “Since I’ve been back here, though, Ann—I forgot how amazing it is. I feel at home again.” 

“I know,” said Anna, and he didn’t seem to hear the uncertainty in her tone. 

Once they got back to the house, Dave vanished with Jim, Stan, and Lena into Jim’s office to talk strategy. Ruth announced she was going back into the preserve now, after arming herself with a crossbow, and walked off back towards the trees. Anna decided to join Barbara and the boys upstairs. 

“Mom, mom, look!” said Dale the minute she walked in. “Lena made us these paint-by-numbers.” They were terribly complex; Dale’s showed a group of centaurs suspiciously similar in appearance to those they had dealt with today, while Warren’s showed a small boy contemplating an enormous cow. Dale’s centaurs were beautifully shaded, and nearly finished; Warren had painted most of the cow blue. 

“They’re beautiful, sweetheart,” said Anna. 

“Not Warren’s,” said Dale. “Look, he painted outside the lines.” Warren’s little face scrunched up into a scowl. 

“I like it,” said Anna. “Very avant-garde.” The toddler lit up again. 

“Yeah!” he said. “Avangar, Dale!” 

“Whatever.” Dale sighed and set down his brush. “Can we have a snack?” 

“Of course,” said Anna. “Warren, are you hungry?” 

“No,” he said, “I wanna stay here and paint.” 

“All right,” said Anna, struck by an idea. “You stay here. Dale, let’s go downstairs.” He followed her out of the attic and down the long, steep staircase. In the kitchen, she found peanut butter and jelly. As Dale ate his sandwich she paused before the refrigerator, almost reaching for the carton as her courage shook—and instead her hand moved to the bottle of milk, and she poured him a glass, and he drank. He faced away from the windows where he sat at the table. Anna sat down with him and waited. A large blue fairy, her wings like those butterflies from South America, seemed to be arguing bitterly with a little yellow dragonfly-fairy. Then they both fluttered away. 

“Dale,” said Anna, “will you come outside with me?” 

“All right,” said her son, and followed her out into the yard, leaving his glass still half-full on the table. They went down the porch, and all seemed normal; then, as they rounded the house and went into the yard, she saw his eyes light up, his perspective change. 

“Whoa,” said Dale, and ran over to a bush crowded with a rainbow of fairies. Most of them scattered as he came, but a few swarmed around him, caught by the attention. “Mom?” he said. “Is this real? What happened?” 

“It’s very real,” said Anna. 

“Fairies?” Dale shook his head in wonder. “Is Santa actually real, too? Did the kids at school lie about that, too?” Anna laughed. 

“No, not Santa,” she said. “And the kids at your school weren’t lying, honey. They don’t know. And they can’t,” she added. “You can’t tell the kids at school when you go back, all right? The rest of the world isn’t supposed to know.” 

“Okay,” said Dale, as if it were perfectly normal. “So why do you know?” 

“Because your dad’s family knows,” said Anna. “They’ve run this place for generations.” Dale frowned, his attention still only half on her, the rest focused on the fairies. At the frown they too frowned, and started to fly away— 

“No, wait!” said Dale. “Wait, come back—I like you—!” He sighed, and came back to the porch to sit down next to his mother. “So what is _this place_?” 

“It’s a preserve,” said Anna. “Grandpa Jim runs it. Keeps the supernatural in and everyone else out.” 

“So is it like a zoo?” Dale asked curiously. 

“Oh, no,” said Anna. “No, no. It’s more like a—a national park,” she decided. “It’s a preserve. To preserve things. Or creatures.” 

“Oh.” Dale frowned at his hands. “And Dad knows?” 

“Dad grew up here, so of course he knows.” 

“Is that why Cousin Ruth and Mr. Sorenson are here?” said Dale. “They know too?” 

“Yes,” said Anna. “They’re here to help your Grandpa out a little.” 

“And I can’t tell my friends?” 

“No.” 

“Not even Eddie?” His best friend since the first day of kindergarten. Anna hated to drive a wedge between them, but— 

“No.” 

“Can I tell Warren?” Oh. She hadn’t quite thought of that. Oops. 

“I don’t think so,” said Anna. “You and me and your father will have to talk about that, but I think he’s too little.” 

“Isn’t he the right age to be learning about fairies and stuff?” said Dale. “He’s a little kid. He probably still _believes_ in fairies to begin with. And dragons and stuff.” His eyes lit up. “Are there _dragons_ too?” Anna shuddered. 

“Yes, there are,” she said, “but not here, and I don’t want you going where they _are_ , either. Dragons aren’t pleasant creatures.” 

“What about—um—okay, dragons, what about hobbits?” said Dale. “Are there those?” Anna laughed. 

“No, sweetie. Mr. Tolkien made those up.” 

“What about the big eagles? I bet he didn’t make up the big eagles.” 

“No, those are called rocs.” 

“ _Cool_.” Dale grinned. “Can I ride one?” 

“I hope not,” said Anna, and when his face fell she put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “I just want to keep my boys safe, sweetheart.” 

“Bleh.” Dale made a face. “I’ll be big soon. I’m halfway to grown up.” Mathematically speaking, there was no arguing with that. 

“Yes, you are.” Anna sighed. “Back to Warren—see, the thing about this place is it can be very dangerous unless you’re an absolute expert, which is why now that you know about it, you absolutely have to stay in the yard.” Dale was silent for a minute. 

“What will happen if I don’t?” he asked, his tone quiet, calculating. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“Trolls,” said Anna. “Demons.” 

“Witches,” said Ruth, who had just reappeared at a run from the woods looking thoroughly spooked. “Seriously—there’s a witch—back there—she’s terrifying—has a limberjack—don’t go,” she said between attempts to catch her breath. “Just don’t. Hi, Dale.” She did a double-take. “Wait, what’s he doing out here?” 

“Mom showed me the fairies,” said Dale, who conveniently now looked rather fearful. “Is there really a witch?” 

“Yes,” said Ruth. “Stay in the yard. The woods are terrifying, especially on your own.” 

“Okay,” said Dale. “I will.” To Anna’s surprise, he actually sounded like he meant it. 

“Besides,” she told him, “like you said, you’re getting big anyway. I’m sure Dad or Grandpa will take you back there in a couple of years. See, Warren’s still too little to grasp how scary it is. He’s probably not mature enough to stick to the yard like I know you will. And he’s not old enough to know not to talk about it to people we know at home.” 

“Oh,” said Dale. “Okay.” Just then, Warren ran out onto the porch to climb into Anna’s lap. 

“Dale,” he said. “Pool.” 

“What?” said Dale. 

“There’s a pool,” said Barbara, appearing in the doorway behind him. “I hope you brought bathing suits?” 

“Yeah,” said Dale. “Do you want to go swimming, Warren?” 

“Yeah!” Warren jumped up again, and the boys scampered off back into the house to change. Barbara sat down in Dale’s vacated spot. 

“I put the milk back in the fridge,” she said. “So a certain fingerpainting scoundrel wouldn’t get into it.” 

“Ah,” said Anna. “Good. Thank you. I meant to—” 

“Of course,” said Barbara. “No problem. So you gave him milk?” Anna nodded. “Does Dave know?” 

“Jim suggested it last night, and we talked about it,” said Anna. “It should be fine. If they could talk to him a bit more about everything—they know this place much better than I do—or if you could—” 

“Someone will,” said Barbara. “Don’t you worry. He’s going to be fine.” 

“All right,” said Anna. She sighed. “Maybe they should start coming down here for school breaks. Just to learn—well, Warren just to have fun, until he’s Dale’s age—” 

“Sounds like a good idea,” said Barbara. “We’ve got to wait until we know for sure that Jim can stay on as caretaker.” 

“Grunhold can’t really kick him out, can they?” said Anna. “Or, _how_ can they?” 

“They’d technically have to put it to a vote with some of the other key players in the treaty,” said Barbara, “satyrs, hamadryads, you know—and run it past the Knights—but they can also bully him out without doing anything official, and they’ve worn him down good.” 

“Centaurgate indeed,” said Anna. Barbara laughed without humor. 

“Unfortunately, sometimes I think it’s starting to look that way.” She sighed. “I’m worried he might actually acquiesce. I know Dave’s nowhere near ready to take over, is the thing—I think Mary _would_ come home, if it came to it—” 

“But that’s why Stan’s here,” said Anna. “To talk about him and Ruth taking over.” 

“Oh, is it?” said Barbara. “Well, thank god there’s another contender.” 

“Yes.” Anna frowned. Dave would have said the same a week ago, but after today she wondered if it might turn into an inheritance battle. She didn’t want that. No one wanted that. 

“Hey,” said Dave, appearing on the porch behind them. “I hear we’re going swimming.” 

“The boys are,” said Anna. “I thought I’d just watch to avoid getting splashed.” She stood to say into his ear, “you and Dale have a lot to talk about.” 

“So I heard.” He kissed her cheek. “I look forward to it.” 

“Don’t take him out there until he’s at least thirteen.” 

“I was thinking fifteen.” 

“How old were you?” 

“Eleven.” 

“Hypocrite.” She hit him lightly in the arm. 

“I love you too.” 

“Go keep your sons from drowning each other.” Anna kissed his cheek. “Last evening of fun before things get complicated, right?” 

“I’d say so,” said Dave, “judging from the conversation in there.” 

“Then let’s enjoy it,” said Anna, and watched him stroll off into the warm, pleasant evening, down the porch, through the yard, down towards the swimming pool. Beyond the yard, all of a sudden, the woods seemed very dark. 

**1992**

“I get to go in the woods this summer, right?” said Warren from the back seat. 

“Once your father gets there,” said Anna from the driver’s. “He was eleven, Dale was eleven, you’re eleven. Once he comes, I’m sure he’ll take you.” 

“Why can’t Grandpa just take me?” he grumbled. 

“Grandpa’s getting old,” said Dale, riding shotgun. “Mom, are you _sure_ I can’t drive any of it?” 

“No.” 

“Don’t I need the practice?” 

“Some other time, Dale, when your father can drive with you.” She sighed. “I thought you hated driving with me.” 

“Well, I do,” he said rather grumpily, “but Dad’s not _here_ , is the thing.” 

“You can drive on the trip home,” said Anna, “when he is.” She slowed, swung the car into the gravel drive—and instantly knew something was wrong. Both gates hung open, and in the distance she thought she saw red lights flashing through the trees. When they pulled up in front of the house, it was behind an ambulance. 

“Holy shit,” said Dale, and for once Anna didn’t reprimand him. She was already out of the car, running up to the porch, where Barbara stood, to all appearances in shock. 

“He had a heart attack,” she said when Anna reached out towards her, before she could quite touch her. “He had—” 

“Oh my god,” said Anna, and looked around, and—“No,” she said as Dale and Warren came running from the car, “no, get—why don’t you two go over to the yard, and—” and the stretcher was wheeled out, and Jim didn’t look anywhere near conscious— 

“Okay,” said Dale, his eyes suddenly haunted, “Okay, Warren, let’s go somewhere else—” 

“Okay,” Warren agreed. He mostly just looked scared. They vanished around the house. 

“Is he going to be all right?” Anna asked quietly, and Barbara just shook her head. 

“No,” she said. “No—I need to call Mary—she’s the only one I can reach—where’s Dave gone, again?” 

“I don’t know,” said Anna. “Just that it’s something for the Knights, and he’ll be here in three days.” Three days. 

Day One was surreal. Mary was flying in from Italy. Lena cooked more food than Anna had thought could be stored in that kitchen. Barbara wandered around in a daze. Dale and Warren stuck to the attic, except when they were outside on the archery range. Warren loved it, while Dale fired arrow after arrow with a look on his face like if he killed the target dead enough, it might bring his grandfather back. Dave, of course, was unreachable, and as no one was certain where in Asia Hadrian was at the moment, that left… Anna. Anna, who wasn’t even related, except by the two boys playing sharks in the pool. At least they weren’t in the woods. Even in the safety of the house, it certainly felt like the adults were. 

Day Two, Mary drove up. Anna hadn’t seen her sister-in-law in eighteen years—not since her own wedding. Dale and Warren had never met her. She and Lena were like old high school friends reunited, and having her around at least pulled Barbara a little out of her shock and into the next stage of grief. 

“I can’t take over,” Mary told Anna in private. “I’m too attached to Dileggende, and I need to go back after the funeral.” 

“You won’t have to,” said Anna. “Dave will. I think.” 

“Where is Dave?” said Mary. “Mom says you don’t know, but something tells me you do.” Anna was silent for a moment. “I understand not wanting to worry her further,” Mary added. “Is it that bad?” 

“It’s about the worst it could be,” said Anna. “The boys don’t know, either. They still think dragons are cool.” 

“Ah.” Mary winced. “So he’s there.” 

“There.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Mary. “Who’s he with?” 

“Rose and Ritter, I think,” said Anna, and Mary visibly relaxed. 

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said. “Bet on Rose and Ritter, that’s what everyone says.” A faint memory of a grill and a pleasanter time surfaced for Anna, and she smiled. 

“Bet on Rose and Ritter,” she echoed. “And—and he’s a Burgess.” 

“We do have a certain tendency to find our way out of just about any trouble we might land ourselves in,” said Mary with a slightly wicked grin. It was very comforting. “And he’ll be here tomorrow, right?” 

Day Three, they called a funeral home to arrange for a cremation. Apparently it was normal for Knights and their associates to be cremated. Anna had never really wondered about funeral arrangements until now, and now she wondered why she hadn’t. It was so the corpses couldn’t be controlled by a viviblix, someone—Lena?—told her. Of course. That would be very, very bad. She sat through dinner wondering when Dave would get here. He had said he would get in late, but the hours drew on to what was rightly called late, and later than late— 

Day Four, Anna woke at dawn to find she was still half-sprawled on the living room couch. Someone was knocking on the door. She considered getting up to answer it, but apparently Lena was already there. She heard a man’s voice. So this was what Dave meant by late. Then Lena came and woke her, and she went out to greet him only to find it wasn’t Dave at all. It was Stan Sorenson, looking terribly sad, flanked by two younger men with ten-thousand-yard stares. 

_Bet on Rose and Ritter._ Had she met them before? Somehow she knew who they were. “Missing in action,” were the words she caught. In a whirlwind they were all swept inside, and Barbara came down, and then Mary, before Anna quite knew what was happening they were all sitting around the kitchen table in a state of polite and icy shock, all logically and methodically struggling to figure out what to do. Today they _all_ took their coffee with milk. 

“I can’t take it over,” Mary said. “Neither can Hadrian.” 

“It’s all right,” said Stan. “That’s why I’m here.” 

“The centaurs wanted you, anyway,” Barbara murmured, and he nodded. 

“You look exhausted,” said Lena, who was the only one who seemed perfectly all right with everything, the only one on whom the past few days had wrought little change. Some part of Anna that didn’t feel frozen supposed that Lena had been a mortal for over a century, and perhaps she had just seen so many humans live and die that it simply didn’t faze her anymore. Then that impression vanished when the naiad’s voice cracked as she added, “Do we really have to work this out now? Couldn’t we save it for after everyone’s had time to sleep, and to process?” 

“We can’t leave this preserve without a caretaker for long,” said Barbara knowingly, and Anna wondered what she was missing. Lena’s forehead creased as she frowned, and her normally-youthful face was suddenly lined just a bit closer to her true age. 

“No, indeed,” she murmured, and was quiet, with a thoughtful look of concern the only hint as to her thoughts, through the rest of the meeting. Stan nodded. 

“I agree. We need to decide now.” He sighed. “And of course I’m tired. They were _due_ to get in this time, but I took a red-eye the minute I heard. Ruth will be out tomorrow once she’s had a chance to pack up.” 

“So you do feel comfortable taking over?” said Mary quietly. Stan smiled for the first time all morning, and the sadness with it almost broke Anna’s heart, the ice had made it so brittle. 

“I promised I would if ever I was needed,” he said. “I’ve wanted to for seven years—I know how much Dave loved this place, but since he’s not available—” 

“Is there something else?” Barbara asked. Stan shrugged. 

“Not—not really,” he said. “Just—my son just had a baby girl, and—” 

“And now you won’t get to be there,” Barbara finished for him. Stan nodded. Barbara shrugged. “Well, look at me,” she said. “I didn’t get to meet my grandsons until Dale was halfway grown, and I’d say we’re on perfectly good terms now.” Right then—just as the clock in the living room struck 9—there was a great thundering on the steps down from the attic. Before anyone could do anything to divert them, Dale and Warren came running down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

“Is Dad here?” Dale asked hopefully. “Oh, hey, Mr. Sorenson. When did you get here? Are we holding a family meeting?” 

“Dale. Hello,” said Stan. Dale’s smile was rapidly becoming a look of great worry as he surveyed the group seated at the table. 

“Where’s Dad?” he asked again. “I thought he was supposed to get in last night.” He looked at Anna, and Anna couldn’t speak. 

“Dale,” Barbara started to say, very gently. “Warren—” 

“No,” said Warren, as if he already knew. 

“He was supposed to get in last night,” said Dale again. “Where—?” He looked around at the adults once more, as if expecting his father to have appeared at the table, and it slowly seemed to dawn on him. After a moment’s dead silence, he echoed Warren. “No.” 

“We can’t tell you any news for certain,” said one of them. Rose. Ritter. One of them. What difference did it make? Dale looked shell-shocked, and Warren— 

“No,” he said again, half-voice, half-sob, and before anyone could stop him, dashed out of the kitchen and out the front door. Half the adults were after him before anyone even much thought about it. Anna went with them, and stepped out onto the porch to see her younger son disappearing past the boundary of the yard and into the woods. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Dale, and Anna was about to tell him not to swear when she realized she had just grouped him with the adults in her assessment of the situation, and his father was gone, and what did it matter anyway? And here were tears— 

“I’ll go after him,” said Stan, headed back for the kitchen. “Eleven-year-old kid in the woods alone with no milk. _That’s_ what you want.” 

“No, don’t,” said Dale. “Mom, not you either, you—sit down. I’m going.” He brushed past Stan to grab an entire bottle of milk out of the fridge. He opened it, dipped a fingertip in it, set it to his tongue, and blinked for a moment to get used to it. As Anna watched, he grabbed one of several tote bags hanging from the coat tree by the front door and dropped the bottle into it along with a kitchen knife. Without another word, he vanished out the door. 

“Regardless, I’m going after them,” said Stan after a minute. “Two kids out in the woods—” 

“They’ll be fine,” said Anna suddenly. “Let them be. They’ll be fine.” 

“If you’re sure,” said Stan reluctantly. “All right. I’ll stay.” Slowly, along with everyone else, he sat back down at the table. “We’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And dragons. Here there be dragons too.
> 
> Sorry.


	3. Hunting Burgesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warren graduates from high school. Shenanigans ensue.

**June 20, 1999**

**Massachusetts**

The high school gymnasium was packed, and it was June, and he was wearing a stupid red robe, and consequently Warren Burgess kind of wished he were in Antarctica. Maybe someday soon he could get assigned to something in Antarctica. Demon penguins? Penguin demons? Surely something like that had to exist. In Antarctica. That would be _awesome_. 

Anywhere else would be more awesome than stupid Massachusetts. And soon he would be anywhere else. Probably that should have calmed him down, but mostly it just decreased his patience even more. 

The diploma-awarding went alphabetically, so he was done with that pretty quickly, thank god. Then it was another hour of sitting quietly in his chair, clapping occasionally for people he didn’t dislike as they too went through the motions of graduating. Ali Hellman waved cheekily as she strolled across the stage, and, returning to her seat, as she passed the end of the row where he was sitting, she winked at him. He smirked back and wondered a little worriedly what that meant he should expect when this was over. 

“We’re done, we’re done!” Ali ran up and hugged him. “We did it!” 

“Good for us,” said Warren, and squirmed out of her hold. She looked up at him past her eyelashes, through eyes suddenly hooded. 

“So,” she said, lowering her voice, “Jake and Jennifer and them were thinking of going down to the lake once we can ditch our families. Want to come?” So that was it. He had been sort of afraid it would go this way. Last summer, hanging out at the lake had been a lovely blur of drinking and swimming and sneaking blowjobs behind the boat house, but… 

“Ali,” said Warren quietly, “we agreed not to do this. No last summer fling. We’re going our separate ways.” 

“Well, sure,” said Ali, “but it’s not actually summer til tomorrow, and until they mail us our diplomas we _are_ technically still in high school, so…” 

“Um—no, Ali, I’m sorry,” said Warren, not really sorry at all. “My brother and I are actually flying out to see some family tomorrow, and I need to… not be… hungover. Yeah. That would be bad.” 

“You don’t have to drink,” Ali pointed out, sliding a hand onto his hip before he realized what she was doing. “There’s plenty of things to do at the lake. Just run home and get your suit—actually, don’t, let’s go skinny dipping—” Warren stepped away. 

“Ali, breaking up was _your idea_.” She was the one going away to college, after all, while he, as far as anyone at school knew, was going to take a gap year for a road trip around the lower 48. It wasn’t even that far from the truth. But she had suggested the split the morning after prom, and he hadn’t been nearly as devastated as she had worried he would be, though he did sort of deeply hate that he couldn’t tell her the real reason _why_. Of all the people to let into the world most humans couldn’t see… Ali would love magic. To be able to tell her that most of the things on _Buffy_ really existed… 

But, no. He couldn’t. 

“Yeah, well, we all make stupid choices.” 

“Not you.” Warren took another step back. “Breaking up with me was the smartest choice you ever made, believe me. We should definitely leave it that way.” Definitely. He would definitely not give in to the temptation. 

“We don’t even have to hook up, you know,” said Ali, plaintive now. “Just come hang out one last time. It’ll be fun.” She looked like she really meant it. For an instant he almost acquiesced. But— 

“I—I can’t.” Warren shook his head. “I’m sorry. Goodbye, Ali.” He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, and went to find his family. 

“There’s my graduate!” said Anna, catching him up almost before he caught sight of her. “Okay, pictures!” 

“I have to go home and pack,” Warren argued, wriggling out of that hug too. 

“You have time for pictures with your aunt,” Anna scolded, and Warren turned to see Mary standing with Dale a yard behind her. His brother waved cheekily. Warren rolled his eyes. 

“Your aunt who came all the way from _Italy_ to see you graduate, you little shit,” said Mary. “Come here.” Oh, god, another hug. Warren suffered through this one because, after all, Mary had come all the way from Italy, and also because Mary was one of the few adults who still scared him a little. It helped that she was one of the few women who was taller than him. 

“Nice to see you, Mary,” he mumbled. 

“It better be.” She kissed his forehead, just because she could, he knew. “I hear tomorrow’s an even bigger day for you!” Finally she released him, and Warren stepped away. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m—I’m a lot more invested in that than I was in this honestly. I don’t know why I even bothered to walk.” 

“For your mother.” Anna’s camera flashed in his face. “Believe me, Warren, this _is_ more important.” 

“She doesn’t want you to be a Knight, does she?” Mary whispered in his ear as she slung an arm around him for more photos. Warren shook his head as subtly as he could. “Because of Dave?” He nodded. “Don’t mind her, kid. Your dad knew what he was getting into. You’ll be a great Knight once they get you trained up.” And with that, she finally let him go. He flashed her a grateful grin, for the support and for the fifty she pressed into his hand as they parted. 

“Okay, but seriously, Mom,” he said, “can I go home and pack now?” 

“Pose with your brother, and then you can,” said Anna. “Don’t you have friends you want to say goodbye to? What about Ali?” 

“I already said goodbye to Ali,” said Warren, brushing it off, not wanting to think about her. “And other than her… nah, I don’t really care about any of these people. I just want to go to Vul—Yellowstone.” 

“And we will,” said Dale. “He’s right, Mom, he needs to pack. I’ve seen his room.” 

“Hey!” 

“No judgment, Warren, you’re eighteen, it’s your sacred duty to be a slob. Just make sure you bring along a change of underwear, okay?” 

“Again, hey!” 

“Whatever.” Dale snorted. “Personally, I can’t wait to be done with being the token Burgess of the Dawn. Soon as you’ve sworn your oath, I’m resigning.” 

“Cool.” Warren shrugged. “All the better. Now I can go straight to badass without having to be the kid brother first.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

“It is not,” said Anna sharply. “You will tough it out for your brother’s first year, Dale, if he’s got to be a Knight at all. You’ll keep him safe.” 

“First summer,” Dale argued. 

“First six months,” Anna countered, and Dale sighed. 

“Fine. But winter solstice, I’m out of there.” 

“ _That’s_ a deal,” said Anna, apparently as satisfied as she was going to get. 

They went home, and Warren threw the first clothes he could find into his suitcase before he climbed into bed much, much earlier than usual. He wanted to get all the sleep he could before the flight tomorrow, especially since he would be up late into the night the next evening. 

He was awakened around 1 AM by his pager buzzing. He ignored it. Five minutes later the phone rang, and Dale came rushing in to wake him. 

“It’s for you.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s someone named Jen, she sounds—really scared.” 

“Okay, um—” Warren sat up, rubbing at his eyes, and took the phone from Dale’s hand. “Hello?” 

“Warren, oh my god.” That was Jen all right, and it sounded like she was sobbing. “Warren, it’s Ali, you’ve got to come help us, she—she passed out, I don’t think she’s—” 

“Oh my god.” Warren was out of bed and feeling around on the floor for his jeans before he quite realized he had moved. “How much did she drink?” 

“Not even that much, just a few beers,” said Jen. “She was acting really weird, though, I—I thought it was just the alcohol, or she was still upset about the breakup or something—she was kind of weird yesterday, too—but she went over and talked to these weird guys sitting over by the boat house, and then—oh my god!” Warren jumped, holding the phone away from his head as she let out an ear-splitting shriek. “What the fuck _is_ that? Oh my god, oh my god, that is not _normal_ —” And the line dropped. 

“What’s going on?” said Dale. Warren was already halfway to his bedroom door. “ _Warren._ ” 

“I think my friends are in trouble.” 

“Where are they?” 

“The lake.” 

“Okay, okay, slow down a minute. What kind of trouble?” Dale asked. “Police trouble, or—?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” said Warren. Dale followed him down the stairs. “Actually—from what she was saying—I think it might be _our_ kind of trouble.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah. Let’s go.” 

“Give me five minutes to get organized?” 

“No time.” He ran to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and tossed things out haphazard until he found the little bottle of milk that Dale kept hidden there from Anna in case of emergency. Warren regarded it for a single doubtful second before he wrenched open the lid and took a sip straight from the bottle. Somehow it was still fresh. 

“Warren!” 

“No time!” He glanced around at the food strewn over the counter, decided it would survive, and dashed out to the front hall, looking around for a coat—something—anything—leather was armor-ish, right? Dave’s leather jacket was still hanging on the coat rack. In seven years, Anna had never moved it. 

“Are you sure Mom won’t mind—?” 

“No time,” said Warren again, shoved his feet into his sneakers, and ran out to the garage. 

“Hang on!” Dale yelled after him. “I have to get my keys—” But Warren had felt in the pockets of the jacket and discovered a different set of keys. 

“No time!” he called almost gleefully, bending to rummage in the armory trunk in the back corner. The first thing his fingers caught was a crossbow. _Sweet_. Another ten seconds’ searching found him a bandolier of bolts. He slung it across his chest. 

Dave’s motorcycle was still parked in the little garage. Unbeknownst to Dale or, god forbid, Anna, Warren had in fact been on a motorcycle since his father died: junior year his friend Julian had been a senior, and taught him how to ride the one he took to school every day. He hoped it was still like he remembered. 

“Warren, what the hell are you doing?” Dale called as he reemerged from the house to find Warren opening the throttle. 

“Just meet me there, okay?” 

“WARREN DAVID BURGESS—” but he sped off, rounded the corner, and was gone. 

The streets were silent at one in the morning, and devoid of cops in this stupidly small town. Warren went as fast as he could, and consequently was at the lake within minutes. He parked the bike, loaded the crossbow, and made his way slowly down the embankment from the parking lot to the picnic area. 

The silence was seriously eerie. The only sound was the lake lapping gently at the sandy shore. It might just have been that the motorcycle’s cut-off roar was still ringing in his ears, but cliché though it was, it was quiet. Too quiet. 

He jumped at the sight of a body lying face-down on the picnic table nearest the water. The moon shone down on long dark hair. Warren was reasonably certain his heart stopped for a second. _No. No no no._ He ran to her. 

To all outward appearance, Ali was very much dead. 

“No.” He said it aloud now. “No. No, no—Ali, Jesus, no—” he pushed aside her hair, reaching for her pulse, but something caught his eye—a protrusion, like a stinger, on the back of her neck. “What the fuck…?” 

“Wow, they really haven’t taught you much, have they?” said Jen’s voice. It sounded like she was right behind him. He turned, slowly, only to have her grab the crossbow out of his hands and aim it point-blank at his sternum. 

“Jen, what are you doing?” _It’s a trap_ , said a panicky corner of his brain that sounded a lot like Dale. 

“Catching a Burgess,” said Jen, deadly serious around a wicked grin. “Worked better than I thought it would, actually.” She smiled. “You’re going to come with me now.” 

“What did you do to her?” Warren asked, not moving. Jen sighed. 

“She’s a stingbulb,” she said. “I’m told I am, too, though personally I think they’re lying. I’m Jen.” 

“Okay. And what’s a stingbulb?” Warren began to edge aside. Jen’s finger tightened on the trigger, and he stopped. 

“This is kind of funny, really. They figured you’d at least know _some_ stuff.” 

“I do know some stuff!” Warren protested. “Who are _they_ , exactly?” 

“Those people behind you,” said Jen, and lowered the crossbow, Cheshire Cat grin widening still further as Warren’s arms were seized from behind and two large, burly men—no, shit, those were definitely not humans—lifted him bodily from the ground. That was surprising. 5’11” wasn’t _that_ short. He wondered if he should be fighting them, but an instant’s analysis told him there was no way he could. 

“What do you want me for?” he asked quickly. 

“Hell if I know,” said Jen. “Ask them. I just did what I was told.” 

It was then that headlights appeared in the parking lot. Dale. _Right on cue._ The demons stopped short in surprise, their grips going slack, and Warren took the opportunity to wrestle his way out and run. He wasn’t sure where he was running—he just knew the demons were behind him. Then the boathouse appeared, and—hadn’t Jen said on the phone that there were strange men in the boathouse? Probably running there was a terrible idea. Right now, though, it was the only choice Warren seemed to have. 

“She’s a stingbulb!” he yelled as loud as he could, hearing a car door slam and Dale shout. Then he vaulted through the open door and slammed it shut behind him. 

There were no strange men here, so Warren decided to assume those had been the demons. He bolted the door shut, flicked the light on, and looked around. The room looked empty of people—just boats, covered in tarps or canvas for storage. The demons started slamming against the door, and he heard shouts from outside, but not before he also heard soft whimpers coming from the boats. 

One by one, Warren untied the tarps to reveal his friends, and his friends’ friends, all bound and gagged and hidden in the boats. Jen was still sobbing. Warren untied her gag first. 

“Oh my god, Warren, I’m _so_ sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t, I’m sorry—they poked me with it, and it turned into me, and I don’t know what’s going on or what was in the beer—” 

“It’s okay,” said Warren. “Calm down.” He untied Jake next, and, looking shell-shocked, he and Jen went through the motions of helping everyone else as Warren walked through the boathouse glancing under the rest of the tarps for good measure. Most of the boats were empty. At the very end of the buildiing, though, he found Ali lying unconscious in a sailboat. 

“Oh my god.” Jen ran over. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” 

“I think she’s okay.” Warren felt for a pulse. It was there, if slow and weak. “I mean, not _okay_ okay, but—not dead. So.” He wasn’t sure quite how to feel at the moment, staring down at her, when she had been lying dead on the picnic table just five minutes before. He still had no idea what stingbulbs were, but he knew he didn’t like them. 

Just then, the door began to rattle. Someone screamed. 

“Warren, let me in!” a muffled voice shouted from the other side. “It’s Dale. They’re gone. Let me in.” While everyone else crowded against the back wall, Warren went to open the door. 

“How do I know you’re not a stingbulb too?” he asked suspiciously, only holding it open halfway. Dale glared at him. 

“Because you don’t even know what stingbulbs are,” he said. 

“Yeah, well, the stingbulb didn’t believe she was a stingbulb, so you could be a stingbulb too.” 

“You’re an idiot,” said Dale disgustedly, and stuck his hand through the crack in the door. “I’m bleeding, look. They scratched me. Stingbulb blood tastes sweet.” 

“I am not tasting your blood.” 

“Then you’re going to have to take it on faith that I’m not a stingbulb,” said Dale. “You’re wearing Dad’s leather jacket, okay? Would a stingbulb know that?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know anything about stingbulbs!” 

“This is an unbelievably stupid argument, and if your friends are hurt, we’re wasting time.” 

“Okay, I—I don’t know, what’s the password?” said Warren, grasping at straws. 

“Seriously?” 

“Come on!” 

“Passwords are for sissies,” Dale recited. “Worst password ever.” 

“But you remembered it.” They hadn’t used that password since their father died. It had been his originally, his and Hadrian’s, when they couldn’t think of anything better to use on solstices to make sure it was them. Warren opened the door. 

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or deeply concerned,” said Dale, walking in to a chorus of gasps from the teenagers behind them. He was bleeding from multiple wounds and carrying a knife and the crossbow. “But we’ll have plenty of time to discuss that _tomorrow_ , Warren. Who here needs the hospital?” He was met with silence for a moment. Then Jake spoke up. 

“Ali,” he said. “She’s unconscious. And Jen’s bleeding and really scared. I think the rest of us are okay.” 

“All right.” Dale looked around. “Who’s up to driving?” 

In the end, Jake took Jen home, and Dale drove Ali to the hospital, Warren cradling her in his lap in the back seat. She woke up halfway there. 

“What happened?” she asked faintly. “Warren?” 

“You hit your head,” Warren told her, because it was the first thing he thought of. “You went down to the lake after graduation, and you were wading—um—drunk, and you fell and hit your head on a rock. Jen freaked out and called me, so Dale and I came to get you.” 

“Oh.” She sighed. “That was stupid of me.” 

“It was an accident.” He let his fingers trace lightly through her hair. 

“We’re still broken up, right?” said Ali. 

“Yeah.” After tonight, definitely. They were all better off without Warren around. 

“Good.” She closed her eyes again and snuggled ever so slightly closer. “I’m going to miss you, though.” 

“Me too.” 

“Have fun in Yellowstone.” She sighed. “Shit. Yellowstone. God, I’m sorry, don’t you have to leave at, like, seven?” 

“Six-thirty. It’s okay.” 

“What time is it now?” 

“Quarter after two,” said Dale from the driver’s seat. 

“Oh. Oh my god, Warren, I’m so sorry, you guys didn’t have to—” 

“Yes, we did.” 

“We’re here,” said Dale, stopping the car. “Warren, you help her, okay? Ali, I’m going to go call your parents.” 

“I don’t remember graduation at all,” said Ali sadly as they climbed out. She tried to stand, and her legs collapsed. Warren caught her. 

“You were great,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound too hollow. 

The ER was a blur. Somehow their story, full of holes as it was, passed muster. Warren wondered if Dale had some kind of glamour up to make it look like alcohol and a concussion where neither actually existed. 

“I thought she broke up with you,” said Ali’s father, eyeing him rather suspiciously once her mother was in with her and the rest of them were waiting outside. Warren smiled wanly. 

“She did,” he said, and then amended, “it was kind of mutual. For the best.” 

“Huh.” And they said nothing more. 

“Is there even any point in going to bed now?” Warren asked as Dale drove them back to the lake. “It’s almost four. We’re leaving in two hours.” 

“Nah, we can leave as late as eight,” said Dale. “We’ll be fine. I just told you six-thirty so you’d get up at a reasonable hour.” 

“Huh.” Warren looked out the window. “But is there any point?” 

“Yes. Even a couple hours’ nap will do you more good than trying to stay up for thirty-six hours straight.” 

“I suppose you speak from experience?” 

“I went to college,” said Dale dryly. “And I’ve been a Knight for seven years.” 

“Right.” Warren sighed. “A Knight.” 

“Yeah. About that.” And then he said nothing. When Warren finally looked at him, he grinned. “You’re going to make a good one.” 

“I am?” That was the exact opposite reaction he had been expecting. 

“In the most terrifying way possible, yes.” Dale drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re obviously incredibly, dangerously reckless, but reckless is just the dark side of brave. And you figured out enough just from interacting with a stingbulb for three minutes to determine that I wasn’t one.” He poked Warren in the temple. “Where was that brain in high school, kid?” 

“Hey, I graduated,” said Warren. “Today. Don’t you dare try to turn that on me.” 

“Technically you graduated yesterday.” As they pulled up to the lake, dawn was already beginning to show on the edge of the horizon. “Happy Midsummer,” said Dale, getting out of the car. 

“Yeah, you too.” Warren got out and started to make his way over to the motorcycle, but Dale tossed him the car keys instead. 

“Like hell you’re taking the bike home,” he said. “They were after you, and they might still be out there, so you’re going to drive. The car provides a lot more protection.” 

“Yeah, why were they after me?” Warren asked. “The stingbulb said they were trying to—to catch a Burgess. Why?” 

“No idea.” Dale shrugged. “I guess they wanted to kidnap you? Search me as to why, though, I feel like you’d be more trouble as a prisoner than you’re worth.” Warren flashed him his sunniest grin. “Uh-huh. Okay, go on. Go home.” He nodded at the car. Warren lingered a moment longer. “What?” 

“Do you even know how to ride a motorcycle?” he asked doubtfully, and Dale looked at him like he was an idiot. Warren was pretty sure that precluded counting the number of times he’d seen that expression in the past six hours on one hand. Maybe two. 

“Who do you think’s been maintaining it?” said Dale. “Dad was teaching me to ride when he died. The better question is why the hell can _you_?” 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Warren shot back, and ducked into the car before Dale could reply. 

Home, he barely stopped to undress before he crawled straight into bed and woke at seven, much too soon for his liking, to Dale shaking him again. 

“Get up, squire.” 

“Squire?” said Warren, bleary and confused, as he sat up. 

“Squire. Because today you’re getting knighted.” 

“Oh.” 

“Seriously, come on. You can sleep on the plane.” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Thank god he packed last night, _before_ the madness. It was all starting to come back with consciousness. He found fresh clothes and socks, and dragged his suitcase downstairs only to have Dale stick a piece of toast in his mouth. “This is not dignified,” said Warren around it. “Not as befits a Knight.” Dale snorted. 

“True. Knights don’t talk with their mouths full.” 

“You talk with your mouth full all the time.” 

“Only on my days off.” 

“Sure.” 

“Get your shit together, squire. I’ll be in the car.” Dale paused in the doorway as Warren’s eye was caught by the coat tree, where their father’s leather jacket was hanging on its hook once again. Slowly, uncertainly, he took it down and shrugged it on, looking askance at Dale, who gave him a thumbs-up. 

“Mom won’t mind?” 

“Mom approves,” said Anna, appearing from the living room. “Come here, my big boy.” Dutifully, Warren hugged her. She stood on tiptoes to kiss his hair. “Have fun. Be safe.” 

“Safe?” Warren laughed. “At a preserve. On Midsummer?” 

“You know, that’s not very reassuring.” 

“Sorry, Mom.” He grinned. “See you next week.” 

“I had better.” She followed him to the front door, ostensibly to stand on the porch and wave goodbye as they drove off. Warren shoved his suitcase into the backseat and slid into shotgun. He was about to close his door when Anna called after them, “Boys? Why is the motorcycle out of the garage?” Warren and Dale looked at each other and grinned simultaneously, a grin Warren was sure he had seen before in some very old picture of Patton. 

“Bye, Mom!” he yelled, and shut his door, and they drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! I retooled my plot outline a little and the words started flowing, so here we are. Another time skip, and finally the POV of an actual main character!
> 
> Thank you to my favorite rose_rawr for betaing.


End file.
